The Dark Lady
by Aria Gray
Summary: Four years since the defeat of Lord Voldemort, all is not well with Harry Potter.  Just as he is beginning to cope, a visitor brings him startlng information.  Could the Dark Lord have had a child?
1. The Memory

The room was dark and dingy but bore unmistakable signs of repeated and diligent attempts at cleaning. All evidence that the study had once been inhabited by dark wizards had long ago been removed, but still, an air of unease hung about the room, as if some of the evils of its past had been retained by its walls.

The bookshelves lining the walls were filled with books and strange instruments. The carpet, a sickly shade of green, was threadbare and looked well worn. In the center of the room sat a large oak desk, bare except for a shallow stone basin that sat upon it. A dark haired young man paced back and forth in front of the desk, his frustration evident in the way he repeatedly ran his hands through his already messy hair. He occasionally threw angry looks at the stone basin, as if it had wronged him in some way.

There was a loud _crack_ and the man turned quickly toward the door, pulling from his pocket a long polished stick and pointing at the creature that had just appeared.

"Master Harry, Master Harry," croaked the creature that was now huddled on the carpet, his hands thrown over his head in fear, "Kreacher wasn't meaning to startle you."

Harry placed his wand back in his pocket and turned back toward his desk. His heart was racing and he could feel his hands shaking slightly.

"Sorry Kreacher," Harry said, again running his fingers through his hair, "I'm just a little edgy." In truth, Harry had been 'just a little edgy' going on four years now, drawing his wand at the slightest noise, often panicking for no reason at all. "Just like Mad-Eye" he thought, with a bitter smile that was more like a grimace.

Kreacher edged his way into the room carrying what appeared to be a bowl of hot soup. Harry was amazed that he hadn't spilled it when he had fallen to the floor. "Kreacher thought you might be hungry," he said, in his bullfrog-like voice. "Kreacher knows you've hardly eaten in days."

"Thanks Kreacher," Harry answered quietly, not really paying attention to what the house elf was saying. He had gone back to his pacing and was again deeply immersed in his thoughts about what he'd just seen in the Pensieve.

Kreacher set the bowl on the desk and walked back across the room to leave. As he did, Harry noticed that his limp was growing worse. He knew that Kreacher, like most everyone who had been there that night, had been injured in the last battle at Hogwarts, but that was almost four years ago. Kreacher should have been getting better by now, rather than worse.

Harry felt that familiar pang of guilt that he experienced whenever he thought about the injuries that his loved ones had sustained that night. If only he had been a bit quicker in defeating Voldemort. If only he hadn't taken so long to find and destroy the Horcruxes. If only he hadn't let Carrow see him looking at the statue of Ravenclaw, maybe he could have saved a few injuries, and a few lives.

With great effort, he pushed the long suffered regret from his mind and turned his attention again to the matter at hand.

He wondered if it could be a trick; some way to lure him into a dangerous situation, or maybe just a practical joke. But memories couldn't be tampered with like this, not without some evidence that they had been. And the fear that had been in Narcissa's eyes that night had definitely been genuine.

He sat back down in the chair behind his desk and let his mind wander back to two nights before, when he had first been given this new information.

It was near midnight, and someone was pounding incessantly on his front door. He hadn't been sleeping of course; he was rarely asleep before dawn these days, but the interruption at this late hour annoyed him nonetheless.

He wasn't really expecting it to be anything important; the days when he was awoken late at night to be informed of a new death or kidnapping were thankfully long gone, but still, it was strange that he'd have a visitor so late on such a dark, rainy night.

He made his way down the long hallway of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, while the pounding on the door continued. He was glad that he had been able to remove the portrait of Sirius' mother; she most surely would have woken up by now. The protection that had been placed on the house by both the Blacks and by The Order of the Phoenix was still in place, but regardless, a sudden feeling of unease made him draw his wand before cautiously opening the door. The woman who stood there, her fist poised to knock again, was the last person he had expected to see.

The rainwater dripping from Narcissa Malfoy's blonde hair onto her smooth pale face mingled with the tears that were streaming steadily from her bloodshot eyes. She had dark circles under her eyes and she looked as though she hadn't slept in a very long time. She was thinner and, if possible, paler than he'd ever seen her before.

"Harry," she whispered, looking up at him through terrified eyes. Her voice, though little more than a whisper, sounded both panicked and sorrowful, much like it had that night when she had whispered to him years ago, while he lay feigning death in the forest at Voldemort's feet.

For a moment, he wondered whether he should curse her. She shouldn't have been able to find this house with all of its protections, and he couldn't think of any reason for her to be here, other than to cause him harm. But her wand wasn't drawn and she would have had a hundred chances to curse him while he stood assessing the situation, so he instead let her in.

He kept his wand out as she led the way into the sitting room. Of course she knew the way- this had after all been her family's home. As they entered the sitting room, she turned to face him, but did not speak.

He looked at her and was reminded forcibly of Draco Malfoy. As much as he resembled his father, he looked equally as much like his mother. An old hatred rose up inside of him and he fought to keep it from showing on his face. His hatred for his childhood enemy had subsided after watching him struggle with himself on the tower the night that Dumbledore died. He had lowered his wand, and from that moment on Harry had felt little else for the boy other than pity. But once Voldemort had been defeated, Harry's hatred for the Malfoys had begun to fester and had grown almost to the level it had been before the war. Lucius had of course escaped being sentenced to Azkaban. The ministry had apparently decided that the Lucius had turned to the good side before Voldemort's fall. Harry had, for his own reasons, refused to testify either for or against him, and the Ministry had nothing to base their decision on other than the countless witnesses who said that Lucius hadn't fought that night at Hogwarts. Lucius didn't have as much control over the ministry as he once had, but to Harry he seemed to still very much be the man he used to be.

Harry had seen Draco a few times since the last battle, but it had only been in passing and neither had said a word to each other. It seemed that some grudges went too deep to heal.

But now, as he looked into Narcissa's bloodshot, watery eyes, he felt a stab of pity that he hadn't felt for a Malfoy in a long time. He hadn't seen her up close in almost four years, and she was definitely worse for the passing time. Her once flawless skin was now beginning to wrinkle with age, and her perfect blonde hair showed streaks of gray.

Narcissa now pulled from her robes a small vial that was filled with a silvery substance which Harry easily recognized. She held it out to him, but then withdrew her hand before he could take it. She closed her eyes and seemed to be willing herself to speak.

After a deep breath, she spoke. "You saved my son," she said through a watery, wavering voice. Harry tried to interject but she held up a hand to stop him. "You saved his life even as he tried to take yours, and for that I am indebted to you."

She handed the vial to Harry and this time she let him take it, but as he did, she took his hand in hers and held it with surprising strength.

"I am not proud of what I've done in this life or who I've been," she spoke now in a whisper, "I've made more mistakes than I can ever possibly make up for. But this…" she faltered, and Harry wasn't sure she'd be able to go on. "This, I hope, will at least make up for some of it."

Without another word she released Harry's hand, pulled her hood up to obscure her face and walked briskly down the long hallway and out of the house, leaving Harry to stare perplexedly after her.

He had sat that night for a long while, thinking about the past few years, before viewing the memory Narcissa had given him. He could tell by the urgency with which she had presented it to him that it was something he should have viewed immediately, but he wasn't sure it was anything he wanted to see. He assumed that the memory, whatever it was, was trouble, and trouble was something he had gone to great lengths to avoid these last few years.

Harry's life after destroying Voldemort had not had the neat happy ending he had foolishly expected. He was tired after the fight at Hogwarts that night, and that exhaustion had never really gone away. He had at first tried to enjoy his new, worry free life, spending time with the people he loved without that constant cloud of evil hanging over him, but it never really felt right. He felt so distant from them, as if a haze separated him from the rest of the world, and he felt he could never really be a part of their lives again.

He waited too long to speak with Ginny, assuming that she'd want space while she mourned the loss of her brother, but she had taken his distance all wrong and assumed that he didn't want to be with her. Before he knew it, she was seeing someone else and he had lost his chance.

And then there was the guilt. Harry assumed that the Weasleys blamed him for Fred, Lupin and Tonks' deaths, along with all the others who had died that night, and he didn't think they'd ever really be able to forgive him. He could see their sorrow etched in their faces every time he looked at them, and he couldn't help but feel that had he accomplished what he had sooner, none of them would have had to die. He could see the same thoughts swimming behind the eyes of those he loved and he didn't blame them for it. Not wanting to impose himself on everyone's grief, he began to withdraw. Even Ron and Hermione, so distracted by both their grief and their budding relationship, didn't seem to notice how far he had receded from his own life.

To everyone's surprise, Harry moved back into Grimmauld place. The memories of Sirius barely haunted him now compared to the weight of all of the other deaths that he had caused, and he found that the crushing guilt and regret followed him wherever he was anyway, so he might as well live in the house he already owned. He supposed a small part of him viewed it as his penance.

It wasn't as though he never saw anyone during that time- Ron and Hermione did stop by quite frequently, as well as the other Weasleys, Neville, Luna, and various members of the Order, but as time passed, most of his friends began to move on with their lives, and Harry was left behind, unable to move beyond the events of his past.

Still, things lately had been slightly improving. Harry had begun leaving the house a bit more often- something Rita Skeeter had been quick to notice, and he had even stopped by the Burrow for Ron's birthday. Ron and Hermione were still together, but they had been fighting quite a bit lately, and they had both been visiting Harry far more often, though separately. Andromeda, Tonks' mother, had started bringing little Teddy by every few weeks and Harry was finally getting to know his nearly four year old godson. At Hermione's not so subtle suggestion, Harry was even now finally considering enrolling in Auror training. He had enough money to never have to work, but he thought having a job should be the next step toward living a normal life.

And now, just as everything had been turning around, Narcissa shows up on his door step bearing what could only be bad news. He so desperately didn't want to view the memory, but he knew he had to. Strange things had started happening lately, and while a majority of the Wizarding world chose to ignore or explain away these occurrences, Harry couldn't deny that something wasn't right. Narcissa wouldn't have given the memory to him if it wasn't important, and if it was really bad, he could always just turn it over to the Ministry and let them deal with it. He was done playing the hero.

He pulled Dumbledore's Pensieve off the shelf in his study where it sat, noticing that this would be the first time he used it since Professor McGonagall had given it to him, and dumped the silvery substance into its depths. He swirled it around for a moment with his wand, bracing himself for whatever he might find, and dove in.

Though much younger than he had ever seen either of them, Harry recognized both woman instantly. One, of course, was Narcissa Malfoy. The other, with her flowing dark hair and dark, lidded eyes, though her face untouched by Azkaban, was unmistakably a young Bellatrix Lestrange.

They were running wildly and Harry had trouble keeping up. Narcissa seemed to be arguing with her sister, but in a hushed voice, as though she was afraid she would be overheard. Finally, approaching a tall stone building, the women stopped, and Harry noticed for the first time that Bellatrix was carrying a small bundle in her arms.

"Bella," Narcissa hissed, "You cannot do this. Should the Dark Lord find out, your punishment would be severe."

Bellatrix turned to Narcissa and her eyes were wild with fright and despair, emotions Harry had never seen there before. "Cissy," she said, almost pleading, "I don't care what he does to me, but I can't let him hurt my baby."

Harry suddenly understood that the bundle Bellatrix was carrying was in fact a baby. It was small, likely no more than a few days old, and Harry felt something like sympathy for Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Well then you should have killed it before it was born like he ordered," Narcissa spat, and Bellatrix turned from her with tears in her eyes.

But when she spoke, it was with a clear, sure voice. "The Dark Lord did not want this child born, but I don't think, once it has had a chance to grow, that he will regret what I've done." Narcissa looked ready to disagree, but Bellatrix cut across her. "Oh he'll kill me when he finds out I'm sure," she said as though this fact were of little consequence, "but he likely never will find out. Should the Dark Lord succeed with his plan, by the time my child turns eleven, Hogwarts will no longer be accepting students of questionable parentage and my baby will likely live as a Muggle. Should the Dark Lord fail, then none of it will matter and our child will be free to live life unafraid of the Dark Lord's wrath.

"And should he learn of my deception, he will be furious, but I believe that he will not take his anger out on the child. He will be glad of having a servant more loyal than any who have come before, and perhaps a protégé."

Narcissa looked at her sister disbelievingly, obviously wondering, as Harry was, whether her sister honestly believed this last, foolish sentiment. Could she really believe that the Dark Lord was capable of something like fatherly love?

Bellatrix turned back toward the austere stone building and slowly began to ascend its steps. Harry looked up at the words carved into the archway over the doors noticed for the first time that it was an orphanage. Narcissa began again to argue, but Bellatrix pointed her wand at her sister, whispered "Silencio," and Narcissa could only mouth wordlessly. With one last kiss, Bellatrix set the baby on the doorstep and knocked loudly. Harry heard a violent sob escape her lips before she turned on the spot and disappeared. Narcissa approached the child where it lay sleeping and pointed her wand at it. Harry watched with horror as he realized what Narcissa was considering, but she seemed to lose her nerve. With a mingled look of desperation and terror, she spun into the air and followed her sister.

Harry slammed into the ground of his study, his mind reeling from what he had just seen. Why had Narcissa chosen to show him this memory now, after all this time? Could it be related to the strange disappearances that had taken place recently? It couldn't be true. Harry didn't want to believe it. Voldemort had been killed that night but a part of him had lived on. Lord Voldemort had a child.


	2. Advice

Harry viewed Narcissa's memory at least thirty times in the days that followed her unexpected arrival on his doorstep. He kept trying to glean some new insight from the scene; memorizing every word that was spoken and taking in every detail he could see. The rest of his time he spent combing through past issues of the Daily Prophet, hoping to find something that would connect Narcissa's memory to the strange events that had recently been taking place.

The Daily Prophet had been reporting the incidents as separate events and had yet to make a connection between them. On the surface they seemed to be nothing too troubling; a few strange disappearances, some incidents of Muggle baiting, and a murder of a Muggle in London that bore signs of Wizard involvement. Harry doubted that the Daily Prophet had reverted back to their ways of ignoring the truth even as it unfolded before them, but believed they were so confident in their safety that they didn't think there could be a connection. And in fact, Harry wondered whether there was any connection at all. He wondered if he was just reading into things, looking for something to be wrong because he was too scarred to believe that everything could be right.

He had finally decided that it was time to let his friends in on the secret. Hermione was due to arrive any minute and he was eagerly awaiting her input.

Ron, who was busy working at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes which he now co-owned with George, said he would try to stop by later, but Ron wasn't very reliable these days and Harry doubted he would see him that evening.

Harry heard the front door's many locks unbolting and knew that the sound meant Hermione had arrived, and was letting herself in. A moment later, there was a soft knock on his study door. Harry opened the door to reveal a very professional looking Hermione. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun and she wore a plain black robe over what looked to be a Muggle woman's business suit. A heavy looking bag was slung over her shoulder, reminding Harry of their days at Hogwarts.

"So the Ministry life is suiting you then?" he said, grinning, forgetting his troubles for the first time in days.

Hermione walked over to Harry's desk, casting an uneasy look at the Pensieve, and set her bag down.

"I don't know what I was thinking," she said wearily, pointing her wand at her head and freeing her wild hair from its confines, "Magical Law Enforcement: It's more work to try to get any type of logic into their heads than it's worth."

Harry just smiled at his friend and let her rant. It was good to see her so worked up about something again. He hadn't seen her like this since their days at Hogwarts.

After Voldemort had been defeated, many students had returned to Hogwarts to repeat the year that they had missed. Hermione hadn't needed to. She obtained special permission to take the N.E.W.T.s without seventh year classes and, of course, passed them all with top marks. After that though, she seemed to lose her focus. She wandered around aimlessly for a while, from job to job, trying to find her fit and it had made Harry uneasy to see her so lacking in purpose. She had always been so set on her path in life, determined to succeed at all costs, but fighting Voldemort had taken its toll on Hermione, as it had on all of them, and she had trouble deciding where to go after. She knew that she wanted to do something worthwhile, but nothing seemed good enough to her. Much to Harry's dismay, Hermione had eventually found work at Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley. It reminded him a bit of Tom Riddle: Someone with so much promise not knowing where to go and ending up in a menial job, but luckily it hadn't lasted long. Harry and Ron had seen to that. They enlisted the help of Kreacher and a few of his house-elf friends from Hogwarts, and staged an incident to remind Hermione how passionate she had once been about S.P.E.W. and about fighting for oppressed creatures. Less than two weeks later, Hermione had been hired at the Ministry in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and was now spending her days arguing with politicians over the rights of various creatures. She could complain about it all she wanted, but Harry knew she was happy there. She was finally doing something she could be proud of, and work hard for, and that was something she needed in her life.

"So I talked to Kingsley about you again today," Hermione said timidly.

"What?" Harry asked, just now realizing that she had ended her rant on the narrow minded fools at the Ministry who didn't believe that Goblins should have the right to bear wands. He rubbed his forehead absent mindedly and tried to refocus on the conversation at hand.

"I talked to Kingsley again today and he said he'd be happy to accept you into Auror training. He said he wouldn't even need you to go through the interviewing process."

"Thanks, Hermione," he said, not really meeting her eyes, "but I'm not even really sure that's what I want to do yet. You know, I think I've spent enough of my life fighting Dark Wizards."

"Oh, come off it Harry," she said, suddenly stern. "Being an Auror is the only thing you've ever wanted to do. You're _meant _to fight evil and you love doing it."

She hesitated a moment before continuing. "You've wasted enough time moping around this awful old house, feeling sorry for yourself. It's time you did something…I don't know…fulfilling."

"Like you were, up until six months ago?" He was feeling a bit angry that after all the time she had spent unsure of what so do with herself, she had the nerve to lecture him on his purpose. She wasn't dissuaded though.

"I know I wasted a lot of time, Harry, but you and Ron helped me realize that what I was doing wasn't making me happy. I'm just trying to do the same for you."

"I know Hermione," he said, not unkindly, "but I'm just not ready yet. I'll let you know when I am and you can use all your connections at the Ministry to help me out."

Hermione bit her lip but didn't say anything more. He could tell though that she hadn't given up the subject for good.

"So you and Ron had another row?" he asked, changing the subject.

Hermione sighed before answering. "I don't know what to do about him. It seems like all he wants to do lately is fight. I feel like we're back in sixth year again."

"I'm sure things will get back to normal again soon though," Harry said, consolingly, "You and Ron are meant for each other. You'll work things out."

"I hope you're right," Hermione said quietly, and he noticed the unsure tone in her voice, "Now what's this about a memory you've been on about?" Her gaze was again fixed on the stone Pensieve that sat on the desk, and Harry realized that with all the times he had ventured into its depths, Hermione never had.

He quickly delved into the story of Narcissa's strange appearance on his doorstep, and Hermione listened, her eyes growing wider with each word.

"But how did she find the house?" she asked when he had finished. "Unless someone from the Order told her, she shouldn't have been able to."

"Well there are about fifty secret keepers now," Harry answered, "I don't think it would have been too hard for her to find one that would spill, especially with the Malfoys' new friendly reputation." He said the last few words bitterly and saw Hermione throw him a reproachful look.

"I don't buy that Lucius has turned over a new leaf either Harry, but I don't think Draco and Narcissa are still practicing their old ways. And besides, Lucius was never very dangerous unless Voldemort was around. Without a Dark Wizard to follow, he's harmless. You need to let go."

"Harmless like he was when he gave Ginny Riddle's diary?" he retorted and Hermione didn't answer.

Without another word, Harry took the vial that contained Narcissa's memory from his desk drawer and emptied its contents into the Pensieve. He hadn't yet given Hermione any idea what the memory was about, and he watched her eyes grow wide with curiosity.

"You ready?" he asked, swirling the Pensieve's contents with his wand.

"It's just, I've never…" she trailed off sheepishly. "I don't know what to do."

Harry chuckled to himself. Ron and Hermione had been with him for nearly everything in the end of his fight with Voldemort, and it was hard for him to separate in his mind the moments where they hadn't actually been there. He explained to Hermione what she needed to do, and gestured that she should go first.

He watched amused as she moved her head toward the shimmering surface of the Pensieve, and then withdrew it at the last moment. She repeated this motion many times, reminding Harry of one of those wooden birds that rock back and forth, pecking at whatever's placed in front of them, until she finally took the plunge. Harry followed, still grinning.

Harry watched the exchange between Bellatrix and Narcissa as raptly as he had the first time, taking in every word as if it were new. Bellatrix never said directly that Voldemort was the child's father, but she did refer to it as "our baby" implying that that was the case. Still, Harry wondered what Hermione would make of it.

The memory ended as it always had, and Harry again found himself wishing for more. He and Hermione slammed back into his ugly green carpet, and he stood quickly, eagerly awaiting Hermione's reaction.

It took a while for her to speak. When she did, Harry was hardly surprised by what she said.

"Harry, don't you think this could be some kind of trick? Maybe the memory has been modified."

"I thought of that Hermione, but I've seen memories that have been tampered with and this one definitely hasn't."

Hermione considered this for a moment before answering, "But didn't you say that Slughorn had done a poor job modifying his own memory? And that the fact that it was so obvious that he had tampered with it meant that the real memory was still there?" Harry recognized that he hardly had to expand on his thoughts anymore- Hermione had been there for so much of his life that she usually knew what he was talking about without going into specifics. "I wonder if a skilled Obliviator could replace a memory without any evidence that it had been done." She seemed to be speaking to herself now more than to Harry. "Modifying one's own memory never works well." She looked at Harry uneasily as she said this and he knew they were both thinking the same thing.

About a year before, Harry had reached a low point in his life, which was saying something given everything he had been through. He had had a bit too much Firewhiskey and was feeling sorry for himself when Hermione found him. He was sitting in his study, his wand pointed at his head, tears streaming down his face, preparing to Obliviate his past from his memory. Though Hermione had been with him through most of his struggles, she never really understood the weight of the grief and the guilt that he felt. He had scared her that night and she had hardly left him alone after that. She had made it her personal mission to see that Harry recovered from everything he had been through. Thankfully, she hadn't told anyone, not even Ron, how she had found Harry, but she had enlisted Ron's help, along with the Weasleys, in ensuring that Harry was rarely left to wallow in self pity and remorse. He suspected that seeing Harry in such a low state was one of the things that pushed her to better her own position in life.

Hermione glided past her unintentional mention of something they rarely talked about and turned her attention now to the contents of Narcissa's memory.

"Why do you think she chose to show you that now? Do you know how old it is? How old the child would be now?"

"You can tell by looking at Bellatrix that it was before she went to Azkaban, so it had to have been before Voldemort fell the first time," Harry answered, "Other than that, I can't tell."

Hermione seemed lost in her own thoughts, so Harry continued.

"She never actually says that it's Voldemort's baby. Do you think, maybe, that it's not?"

Hermione considered him for a moment before answering. "You said she was acting as though she was doing you a huge favor by giving you the memory. I don't think the knowledge that Bellatrix had an unknown child, while a scary thought, would be enough to repay you for saving Draco's life. I think it's safe to say that, if this memory is genuine, Bellatrix had Voldemort's child."

Harry and Hermione both shuddered at the thought.

"So, what do we do?" Harry asked after a moment. He had come to expect Hermione to always have all the answers. "Do you think this baby could have something to do with all the strange things that have been happening lately?"

"I don't know," she answered, "but I think it's worth investigating."

Harry nodded, relieved that he wasn't the only one who was worried by everything that had been happening, and the two friends began discussing where their investigation would begin.

-888-

Harry waited in vain that night for Ron to show up. He was eager to share this new information with Ron as he had with Hermione, and hear his opinion of the situation, but he had apparently not made it clear how important it was that they spoke.

Harry groaned in frustration as he rolled over in bed, trying desperately to get some much needed sleep. He and Hermione were setting out early in the morning to find the Muggle orphanage, and he wanted to be well rested, but sleep rarely came easily for him.

It was almost a relief to have something to concentrate on other than the events of his past. Even if this new development was far from pleasant, it was still better to dwell on than that night four years ago and the events preceding it. Still, despite this new piece of information, his thoughts kept turning to Ron. Harry punched his pillow in frustration. Why did Ron have to be such a jealous git? It seemed like whenever he and Hermione were fighting, which was becoming more and more common, he took out all of his frustration on Harry. After the fight with Voldemort, Hermione had been one of the few people that stuck by Harry despite his protests that he be left alone. Ron on the other hand had decided that Harry needed time and space, and had stopped coming around so often. Harry and Hermione had quickly grown closer than they had been even at Hogwarts, and Ron hadn't failed to notice. Of course there was nothing more than friendship between them, but Ron had never forgotten his fears that he could never compete with Harry for Hermione's love. He tried not to let it show, but it was obvious to everyone involved that Ron was dangerously jealous of Harry.

Ron's jealousy grew and receded in direct relation to the state of his and Hermione's relationship on any given day. The better they were getting along, the nicer he was to Harry. But lately, the fighting between the couple had grown almost to constancy, and Harry was feeling the pains of Ron's bitter jealousy. Harry guessed that it was self perpetuating: He knew that his relationship with Hermione was a major strain on Ron and Hermione's relationship, which caused fighting between the two, which led in turn to Ron's renewed jealousy and anger toward Harry. It probably didn't help that Hermione chose to spend the nights that she and Ron were fighting at Grimmauld Place with Harry, rather than going back to Ron's flat above his shop in Diagon Alley. He would have pointed this out to Hermione, but he really did like the company. As much as he protested that he liked living alone, Grimmauld Place did get lonely sometimes.

Harry could hear Hermione's soft snores coming from the next room and he smiled in his pillow. It wasn't a habit she had always had- he had never noticed it during all the nights they slept in the same tent while searching for Voldemort's Horcruxes, but now that it had begun, he found it more endearing than irritating. He had tried to tell her about it once but she denied it vehemently and threatened to Obliviate him if he didn't drop it. Of course, that had been before the Firewhiskey incident. They rarely talked about memory modification these days.

Harry forced himself to focus on Hermione's soft snores and let himself be lulled into peace with the consistency of them. After a few moments, he finally found the sleep that had been eluding him.

Harry awoke to a soft knocking on his door. It was definitely preferable to Kreacher Apparating directly into his bedroom, but it startled him all the same. He sat up immediately and pulled his wand from under his pillow where he kept it at night before reassuring himself that he was safe in his bed at Grimmauld Place and not in a Death Eater's dungeon. He lay back down and called weakly for Hermione to come in.

She entered bearing a cup of tea, handed it to Harry and sat down lightly on the edge of his bed. She looked nervous about something.

"I don't like this Harry," she said after a moment. "I'm wondering if we should just bring the memory straight to the Ministry and let them sort it out."

Harry sipped at his tea for a few moments before answering. "I don't think the Ministry will take it seriously. They'll say exactly what you did- that it's a joke or a trick. I think we should at least check out the orphanage like we planned and if we find anything serious, we'll turn it over to the Ministry."

Hermione seemed satisfied with his answer and left him to dress. He found her a few minutes later in the basement kitchen, pouring over her notes from her job at the Ministry. He mused again how nice it was to see Hermione with her nose in a book, rather than behind a cash register. She didn't look up when Harry came in, and it was a moment before she noticed he was there.

A loud crack resonated around the room and Harry again jumped and drew his wand.

"Damn it Kreacher," he yelled, his heart racing, "do you have to Apparate every time?"

Hermione cast Harry a scathing look before addressing Kreacher. "Is it your leg, Kreacher?" she asked kindly, "Is it getting worse?"

Kreacher nodded as he placed Harry and Hermione's breakfast on the table. "I'm sorry Master Harry," he croaked, "Kreacher won't Apparate within the house again."

"No, Kreacher, that's alright," Harry said, sitting at the table, feeling guilty, "just try to give me more warning next time."

Harry watched again as Kreacher limped out of the room. He wondered how bad Kreacher's leg had gotten, and how long house-elves usually lived. He made a note to ask Hermione when Kreacher wasn't within ear shot.

"Have you found the orphanage?" he asked Hermione.

"Yes, it was simple really," she answered, still reading through her notes as she spoke, "I just looked in the phone book."

Harry blinked. They had spent nearly an hour the night before trying to figure out how they would find the orphanage, and though they had both been raised by Muggles, neither had thought of using such simple means to find the information they needed.

They hurriedly ate their breakfast and left the house. Harry squinted in the sunlight, not used to being out so early. Hermione didn't say a word as they boarded the underground, though Harry could tell she wanted to. She hated travelling this way, but Harry insisted on using Muggle transportation whenever they couldn't Apparate. He liked to avoid strange wizards whenever possible.

Twenty minutes later they were standing on the large stone stairway they had seen in Narcissa's memory, gazing up at the massive, austere looking building. Harry was starting to lose his nerve. He marveled that less than four years ago he had faced the most dangerous wizard there was while hardly batting an eye, but now the idea of going into a presumably safe orphanage nearly paralyzed him with fear. Hermione seemed to sense this and took his hand as they began to ascend the steps, both of them wondering what they would find inside.


	3. The Orphanage

Harry half expected Mrs. Cole to walk through the door. He and Hermione had been led down a long, shabby but sterile hallway into a small office that reminded him very much of Tom Riddle's own orphanage. They sat in cold metal chairs across from an old wooden desk, waiting for the woman who ran the orphanage to join them.

Of course, even if this was the orphanage that Riddle had been raised in, Mrs. Cole would be long dead by now, but that didn't stop Harry from casting uneasy looks at the open door, or from remembering clearly Dumbledore's memory which took place in an office very similar to the one in which Harry now sat. Even through his nervousness, he remembered the suit Dumbledore had been wearing and had to stifle a laugh.

After what seemed like hours, a woman walked in. She was much younger and prettier than Harry had expected, but when she spoke, her voice was stiff and seemed coarse beyond her years.

"What is it that I can help you with?" she asked sitting down at her desk without looking at them. She had already buried herself in paperwork.

Hermione launched into the story she and Harry had prepared the night before. "We're looking for someone." Her voice did little to betray her discomfort at lying and to Harry, her story sounded perfectly believable. "My sister was given up for adoption many years ago, and I'm trying to find her."

"What was her name?" the woman asked.

Hermione hesitated. "I'm not sure exactly."

The woman cut across her. "And what year was this?"

Hermione began ringing her hands and shifted in her seat. "Er…We know it was at least twenty years ago and probably not more than thirty."

The woman finally looked up at them but her expression was annoyed rather than helpful.

"Do you really think I have time to look through ten years of records without even a name to go on?" she asked, obviously annoyed. "Come back when you have a name, or even a year."

Hermione's hand went into her pocket and Harry thought he saw her wrist flick slightly, but it was so subtle, he might have imagined it. Hermione's expression didn't change.

He looked back up at the woman as she began to speak again. He had thought that she had said all she had to say, but she continued.

"Though I suppose there wouldn't be any harm in letting you two look through our records. Of course, they're supposed to be confidential, but I don't think you'll tell anyone." Much of the stiffness had left her voice. She stood up and led them out of the office and back down the hallway to a rickety old set of wooden stairs. She seemed a bit confused as she led them down the stairway into a dingy, dirt floored basement and Harry was now sure that he hadn't imagined Hermione's strange wrist movement.

"These are our dated record books," she said, gesturing toward a shelf on the far wall that contained at least a hundred books. "They contain the names and dates, as well as the circumstances behind their admittance here, of everyone we've ever taken in." She moved toward an endless amount of file cabinets on the wall opposite. "These are the files of all of our children. They are arranged alphabetically and contain all pertinent information for each child." Without another word she left them to their search. Harry thought he saw her stumble a bit as she made her way up the stairs.

"Well that was lucky," Harry said sarcastically. Hermione didn't answer as she walked toward the shelves of record books, but Harry saw through the dim yellow light that illuminated the basement that her cheeks were tinged pink.

Hermione started with the record books for the year 1970 and moved forward, while Harry began in 1981 and moved backward. Each time they found a child who had been left on the doorstep, they shouted out the name for the other to look the child up in the file cabinet. They had been at it for over an hour when Hermione called out "Michael Smith, left anonymously on 12 June, 1973. Harry stood up from the dirt floor and began sorting through the endless Smiths in the file cabinet. It was difficult to see through the pale yellow light, and his eyes were growing tired.

"It's no good," he called after a moment, "His grandmother adopted him when he was three."

"It could still be him," Hermione called without taking her eyes off her book, "You should add him to the list." Harry sighed and added Michael Smith to the ever growing list of possibilities. He knew Hermione liked to be thorough, but this was getting ridiculous. Almost as soon as Harry sat back down and picked up his book a name jumped out at him. "Sarah Gray," he read quietly. It sounded slightly familiar to him. She had been left on the doorstep of the orphanage in April of 1977. Without calling to Hermione he went back to the file cabinets and extracted Sarah's file.

She had indeed been left at the orphanage anonymously as an infant and no one had ever come to claim her. They had named her Sarah because that was what they named most of the girls who came through without a name. They had named her Gray because of her strangely gray eyes. Other than medical records, there was very little after that until about seven years later. On her seventh birthday, she was disciplined for having broken all of the windows in her dormitory. Harry cringed as he read her punishment. Nearly a year later, she had been punished again, this time for "causing all of the food that had been laid for breakfast to explode all over the walls and ceiling." The file didn't mention how she had managed this feat and Harry smiled to himself. Whether this was the child they were looking for or not, he was fairly certain that he had found a young witch.

There were a few other strange incidents for which Sarah had been punished over the next few years, and Harry was hardly surprised when he read about her acceptance into a boarding school on her eleventh birthday. She left the first of September that year and only returned once more. She came back one summer after leaving and never again.

"I'm pretty sure I found a witch Hermione, but I'm not sure it's who we're looking for." Hermione stood and joined him by the file cabinets, reading the file over his shoulder.

"It looks good," she said, "but I think we should keep looking. We only have three years left."

Harry sighed and went back to his books, adding Sarah's name to the list and circling it.

Hours later they left the orphanage, careful to avoid being seen as Harry was sure Hermione's spell had worn off by now. He wanted to avoid modifying the woman's memory if possible. Their list had grown considerably and they had nearly fifty names, but none looked as promising to Harry as that of Sarah Gray.

"So what now?" Harry asked as they descended the steps of the orphanage.

"Hogwarts I suppose," Hermione answered, nervously glancing at Harry. He gritted his teeth and didn't answer right away. Harry had left Hogwarts early on the morning following his final battle with Voldemort and hadn't returned since. He, like Hermione, had obtained special permission to take the N.E.W.T.s without seventh year classes. Hermione had tutored him on everything he would need to know and, taking the exams at the Ministry rather than the school, he passed well. He had told everyone that he didn't want to go back because he didn't want to be subjected to the stares and whispers that would greet him there. It was true that his fame had grown to an unbearable height after his fight with Voldemort, but that wasn't the whole reason Harry didn't want to return. Harry had once considered Hogwarts home but now all the good memories Harry had of the place had been eclipsed by the memories of the final battle and all the death he had caused there. Every time he let his mind wander to pleasant memories of Hogwarts before the war, his thoughts were ultimately replaced by memories of blood and screams and tears and death. Harry didn't think he could go back to the place without losing it completely. Its old stone corridors and portrait lined staircases held nothing for him now but feelings of regret, of grief, and of guilt.

Hermione gave Harry a few moments to collect his thoughts before pressing him further. "It might not be so bad, you know," she said placing a consoling hand on his shoulder, "Six years of good memories might outweigh those few terrible nights."

Harry wanted to point out that most of his good memories led to bad ones, but didn't. She was right and he knew it. Not about what she had said but about what she hadn't had to say. He was being ridiculous not wanting to go back there. He had to at least try to accept his past if he ever wanted to move on with his future.

A quiet "okay," was all he could manage.

Hermione smiled and pulled him under cover of some bushes lining the sidewalk.

"What, right now?" he asked, feeling panicky.

"Why not?" she said happily and pulled him into thin air without giving him the chance to Apparate himself.

A moment later they arrived in Hogsmeade and Harry had a split second to wish that Hermione had given him a chance to go back to Grimmauld Place and get his invisibility cloak before the people of the street surrounded him.

"It's Harry Potter!" a little girl who was almost in tears with excitement cried.

People on the street began closing in on him. Some shouted out thanks while others pressed bits of parchment under his nose and asked for autographs. He felt as though the whole world was pressing in on him and he was having trouble breathing. He closed his eyes and felt the world begin to swim away from him, but then he felt Hermione's familiar hand in his and he found it slightly easier to breath.

"Let him through, Let him through," said a familiar voice and Harry opened his eyes to see Ron parting the crowd. He hadn't felt so grateful to Ron even when Ron had insisted on helping him destroy Lord Voldemort. Harry felt Hermione's hand quickly slip from his and thought he saw Ron cast a scathing look at her before forcefully grabbing Harry's arm and leading him through the crowd.

"What were you thinking, Hermione?" Ron hissed, "Apparating right into a crowded street in Hogsmeade. Are you _trying_ to make Harry go mad?" Hermione didn't answer but Harry saw her blush.

Ron took them into his Hogsmeade branch of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and it wasn't until he had led them up a stairway into a store room that Harry found he could breathe regularly again. Ron double bolted the door and added magical protection as well before speaking again.

"So what are you two doing here, anyway?" he asked and some of the anger had left his voice.

Hermione looked at Harry to see if he'd speak before launching into the story of why they had come. Harry began walking around the room, which doubled as a living space, while Hermione spoke, not really listening but taking in the place where his friend sometimes lived.

Harry realized with a pang of guilt that he had never visited Ron's shop in Hogsmeade before. Ron and George had flats above both of their shops and alternated between the two. Harry had been to the flat in Diagon Alley just a few times, and had never bothered to visit the other. Ron usually came to Grimmauld Place to see Harry, to avoid scenes like the one they had just been a part of.

There were a few splotches of orange on the walls, but it seemed that Ron's enthusiasm for the Canons, or at least his desire to cover his walls with them, had faded. Harry wondered if Hermione had had something to do with that. The room was otherwise tastefully decorated, but was filled with boxes that Harry assumed were extra products for the shop that wouldn't fit into the basement.

Harry knew so little of his supposed best friend's new life and felt awful. He wondered how he had let them drift so far apart. Ron had been a better friend to Harry than he ever could have asked for, and Harry hadn't ever given much in return. He had risked his life for Harry on so many occasions, but now Harry couldn't even brave a crowd of harmless witches and wizards to see his best friend.

"Right, Harry?" he heard Hermione say and he was drawn out of his reverie.

"Oh, er…what?" Harry asked. He hadn't heard a word Hermione had said.

She rolled her eyes and repeated herself. "I was just telling Ron that we're going to Hogwarts to try to find the mystery child and that we want him to come."

There was a nervous excitement in Hermione's voice and he could tell that she was trying hard to involve Ron for a lot of reasons. He knew that she felt partially responsible for the way he and Ron had drifted, and was doing all she could to stop it before it was too late. He suspected that she also thought that getting the three of them to spend time together again would show Ron that there was nothing between her and Harry.

"Of course we want him to come," Harry said without hesitating, looking into his friend's freckly face. It had aged quite a bit in the last four years and Harry noticed that Ron looked much older than his twenty two years. He wore his red hair long, well past his ears and Harry wondered what Mrs. Weasley thought about that. He had lost much of his adolescent lankiness, and though he was still tall, he had taken on a far more muscular tone. He reminded Harry quite a bit of Bill before his incident with Greyback with one obvious difference: His eyes were void of any sparkle and despite his lack of scars, he looked war-battered and beaten. Harry had to fight back the urge to just Apparate out of the flat and never look back. He hated seeing his friend like this and would have liked to have just disappeared from the wizarding world and spend the rest of his life as a Muggle.

He watched as Hermione moved over to her boyfriend and took his hand. Her voice was quiet but Harry could still hear the pleading quality of her tone. "Please, Ron," she whispered. Ron looked into her eyes for a moment but then looked away.

"Sorry," he said, pulling back from Hermione and not looking at either of them, "I'm too busy in the shop today. Let me know how it works out though." He picked up one of the many boxes from the floor with ease and headed toward the door. "You can stay up here as long as you need." With that he unlocked his door and went back down into his shop.

Hermione looked crestfallen and Harry surprisingly felt much the same way.

"I guess I'll go get my cloak," he said, trying to give Hermione a chance to regroup.

"No, I'll get it," she said and her voice didn't betray her sadness.

She turned on the spot and disappeared. Only a minute passed before she returned, Harry's invisibility cloak slung over her arm. She handed it to him and he put it on. Thoroughly invisible, he left the shop with Hermione by his side.

The village was as crowded as he had ever seen it and he was at least happy that the world had gotten back to normal. He had trouble navigating through the dense crowd without bumping into anyone and had to keep a hand on Hermione's shoulder to keep from losing her. Harry noticed that Hermione was getting almost as many stares as he himself would have. He supposed that she was nearly as famous as he was now. Her story and the role she had played in defeating Voldemort hadn't escaped the public's attention, and Harry wondered how she dealt with it on a daily basis.

They passed by the book store and Harry did a double take. In the display window sat three books, one with what appeared to be a Muggle photo of himself on the cover. Harry stopped to stare at it.

"They had to use a Muggle photo," Hermione explained out of the corner of her mouth, "you kept running out of the frame in the wizard ones." Harry tore his eyes from the picture and looked at the title of the book. "The Unauthorized Biography of Harry Potter," it read, "by Rita Skeeter." He couldn't believe it. How could she do something like that without his permission?

"Sorry I didn't tell you," Hermione said apologetically, "There was nothing you could do about it and I figured it would upset you." She seemed terrified that he might explode on her, but he could see her logic so said nothing. He looked at the other books in the window and had to fight back a laugh. Beside his own biography were biographies of Ron and Hermione.

"They aren't as awful as you'd think," she pressed on, "Apparently Rita was terrified that if she wrote anything mean about us I'd turn her in for being an unregistered Animagus, so she generally stuck to the facts. There's a bit of exaggeration, but it's not that bad."

Harry seriously doubted Hermione's claim, but decided to read for himself later. He'd read Ron and Hermione's first, and then decide whether he wanted to read his own.

They moved away from the shop window and Harry couldn't help but quietly tease Hermione for being such a celebrity. It was just too much when a little boy, no more than six, came up to Hermione, shaking, clutching a quill and parchment and asking timidly for an autograph.

Harry had to move away so that no one would hear him laugh.

Hermione rolled her eyes in the direction she thought Harry had gone and kindly bent down to talk to the boy.

A few minutes later she rose and the boy left looking very happy. They began walking again toward the path that led to Hogwarts.

"Did you tell McGonagall we were coming?" he asked, finally able to speak at a normal level. They had passed out of the village.

"No, but I don't think she'll mind," Hermione answered, "I'll just send a Patronus asking her to open the gates."

A silver otter flew from the tip of Hermione's wand and made its way quickly toward the school.

A few minutes later, they approached the gates of the school to find Neville waiting with a huge grin on his face.

"Hermione," he called, running out to meet her and hugging her violently, "it's been too long." Harry removed his cloak and Neville looked, if possible, even happier. He turned to embrace Harry and actually lifted him off the ground.

Harry was truly happy to see his old friend. Neville had begun apprenticing Professor Sprout at the beginning of the school year and Harry hadn't seen him since. He knew Neville must be busy with teaching and didn't blame him at all. Professor Sprout would be retiring at the end of the year and Neville was preparing to take over for her teaching Herbology. Harry knew that Neville would be happy there and was thrilled for him.

"So how do you like teaching so far?" Harry asked as they made their way up to the school.

"I love it," Neville answered sincerely and he happily launched into the story of the first time he had given a detention. Harry hardly noticed as they reached the large oak doors that led into the castle, and the force of it hit him all at once.

There were curses flying, the green emeralds of Slytherin were spewed across the floor, dead bodies littered the ground and screams echoed through the vaulted ceilings. The castle was crumbling around him and he could hear it groan in distress. He fell to his knees and closed his eyes, willing it all to disappear. Hermione was beside him in a second, whispering that it was all ok. Harry tried to steady his breath and after a few moments, forced himself to open his eyes. McGonagall had joined them and she and Neville were standing over him looking very concerned, and was that pity in their eyes as well?

Harry stood shakily, feeling very embarrassed, and chose to ignore his little fit, hoping they would follow suit. He shook hands with the temporary head mistress and she invited them into her office. They followed her through the corridors and Harry did everything he could to keep his eyes unfocused, looking straight ahead, and ignoring the sounds of war he could still hear faintly all around him.

It took a long time to get to the Headmistress's office. Harry noticed that she was walking very slowly and seemed to have aged quite a bit. Hermione had told him that McGonagall had agreed to continue as headmistress while they searched for a replacement, but that they hadn't had any luck. She really was getting on in years and Harry wondered how long it would be before she insisted on retirement.

Neville left them at the stone gargoyle guarding the office, which Harry noticed had been repaired, and went to teach a class. Though Harry was still a bit shaken, he smiled as he pictured Neville enthusiastically explaining the properties of the Mimbulus mimbletonia while bored students lapsed into their own daydreams.

The head's office hadn't changed very much in the years since Harry had last been there. Many of Dumbledore's possessions were absent, and Harry knew that McGonagall had given many of them away to various people and institutions. He himself had been given Dumbledore's Pensieve, and he knew that many of his other things had been auctioned off to benefit St. Mungo's. Some of them had ended up in the museum that had been erected in Dumbledore's honor, which Harry had yet to visit. He had heard that there was one planned for him as well, but had no interest in becoming involved with it.

Still, many of Dumbledore's things had remained in his old office, and Harry assumed they were permanent gifts to the school. He noticed that the Sword of Gryffindor still had its rightful place next to the sorting hat. McGonagall had reluctantly tried to give it to him, as Dumbledore had left it to him in his will, but Harry had refused. It belonged here at the school.

Harry's eyes were drawn to the portrait behind McGonagall's desk where Dumbledore should have been, but it was empty.

"He's probably off visiting the fat lady again," McGonagall said, noticing Harry's gaze. Harry surprisingly felt relieved that he wouldn't feel those blue eyes piercing him today. As much as Harry liked to believe that he could find the real Dumbledore in that portrait, he knew that it was nothing more than an echo of his former self. The portrait version knew the things Dumbledore would have known, and said the things that Dumbledore would have said, but speaking with it never really felt right. It wasn't really Dumbledore and it felt almost like a betrayal to the real man to sit talking to this imposter.

"What can I do for you?" McGonagall asked, peering at them inquisitively from behind her desk.

Harry knew he wouldn't have to lie to her. He could tell her the whole truth and she wouldn't question them but would help them in any way she could, but something kept him from revealing all.

"We were wondering if you could tell us about some former students," Harry said, wondering whether he should give her the whole list or just ask about the one name he was sure was correct.

Hermione saved him the trouble of deciding, "In particular, we were wondering if you ever taught anyone named Sarah Gray."

McGonagall seemed to be searching her memory, but it was evident that recognition swam behind her eyes.

"Well, yes," she said. "She was only a few years ahead of you in school. She was a Ravenclaw I believe."

Harry's initial excitement turned to disappointment: There was no way any daughter of Voldemort would be in any house other than Slytherin.

"What can you tell us about her, Professor?" Harry heard Hermione ask and he wondered why she was bothering.

"She was very quiet," McGonagall said slowly, trying to remember this one student among the thousands she had taught, "She hardly ever said a word but was very talented. She had no trouble in Transfiguration and could almost always perform any spell I taught on her first try.

"The other teachers were as impressed by her as I was and I believe Professor Flitwick went out of his way to try to get her to come out of her shell. Still, I never saw her with another student and I don't believe she made a single friend while she was a student here.

"She graduated and received top marks in all of her N.E.W.T.s, but I'm not sure what happened to her after. I don't think I've seen her since."

Hermione pressed McGonagall further, but it seemed she knew nothing else of the girl. McGonagall suggested that they ask Professor Flitwick, but he had retired two years previously and they would have to wait to question him. Hermione gave McGonagall a copy of the list they had compiled and asked that she look over it at her convenience and let them know if she recognized any of the names. McGonagall looked confused but agreed and didn't ask what they were up to.

Professor McGonagall asked that they join her in the Great Hall for lunch, but Harry refused. Despite McGonagall's protests that she could keep her own students under control, Harry didn't feel like subjecting himself to their stares and whispers, nor did he wish to visit the place that stood out most clearly in his nightmares.

He and Hermione said their goodbyes, promising that they would see McGonagall very soon, and left to find Hagrid.

Harry hadn't seen Hagrid in almost a year and was regretting it almost as much as he regretted the distance that had fallen between him and Ron.

They walked through the castle, which was now full of students on their way to the Great Hall for lunch, but thankfully made their way to the large oak doors that led to the grounds without incident.

Hagrid was just as pleased to see Harry as Fang was, and nearly crushed him with the weight of his hug. They spent the lunch hour reminiscing about Norbert the dragon, about the time Ron had cursed himself to belch up slugs, and about countless other good memories he and Hagrid shared. Harry was happy to find that he was able to speak of these things with Hagrid without too much sorrow. Maybe he really was beginning to adjust.

It seemed too soon that Hagrid had to leave to teach his lesson and he and Harry said their goodbyes with reluctance. He promised Hagrid, just as he had McGonagall, that he would start coming around more often and with a heavy heart, he passed the winged boars that flanked the gate and left the grounds of his old school.

Hogwarts really had been the only place Harry had ever considered home, and he wondered if Hermione was right: Maybe he could learn to let his good memories of the place replace the bad. Maybe he could finally find happiness again.

**A/N: **I realize that this chapter and the last were a bit uneventful, but I promise things will get more exciting in the next chapter. Thanks for being patient!


	4. Fate

Harry's feelings of optimism lasted well into the next few days. He awoke on the morning that he and Hermione had scheduled to meet with Professor Flitwick feeling almost light hearted. Hermione had noticed the change in Harry and was doing everything she could to encourage it. She had convinced Harry to visit Ron with her again and the three of them spent the whole night laughing; something they hadn't done together in a long time.

Ron seemed just as pleased as Hermione at Harry's new mood, and some of Ron's resentment seemed to fade. He and Hermione seemed to be getting along better than ever and that only served to raise Harry's spirits even higher.

Harry actually found himself humming as he greeted the morning owl that delivered his copy of the Daily Prophet. His good mood quickly diminished though as the headline of the newspaper greeted him.

"Lucius Malfoy Dead," read the bold, black print. A subheading read "Wife and Child Missing." Harry was in shock. He had not expected this. After a moment of hesitation, he began to read the article.

_Lucius Malfoy, a known Death Eater who was cleared of all charges in his highly publicized trial in 1997, was found dead in his home last night. Ministry officials were reluctant to comment, but this reporter learned from an official unnamed source that the death was most definitely murder. The room in which he was found was in shambles and there was evidence that Malfoy had been tortured. His left arm, which was widely known to bear You-Know-Who's Dark Mark, was mutilated and not a trace of the infamous serpent and skull remained. This has led some to wonder whether a Death Eater still at large may have been harboring a grudge against Malfoy for his ease at abandoning his former master. Others believe that Malfoy was killed by his family; Wife Narcissa, and Draco, age 21, who then fled. The Ministry is making every effort to find the missing Malfoys. It is not known whether they were kidnapped or left of their own accord. Cont. Pg 2 _

Harry put the paper down, not knowing what to feel. He felt numb with shock. Lucius Malfoy was dead. Finally, one of the last of Harry's enemies was gone, but what Harry felt was far from relief. And Draco. His childhood enemy was missing and possibly dead. He surprisingly felt pity for his old nemesis. Would he never be able to escape the shadow of his father and of his own past actions? And what about Narcissa? She had changed. She had admitted to Harry that she regretted who she had been in life and Harry had believed her. Why now?

A thousand thoughts were running through Harry's mind. Was the account of the Prophet true? Had it been a disgruntled Death Eater? He dismissed the idea that Draco or Narcissa had killed Lucius, but what had happened to them? Had they been kidnapped? Killed? Could it have been the child that Narcissa had told Harry about?

Harry was so lost in his thoughts that he hardly noticed Ron and Hermione joining him in the kitchen. He could tell by the looks on their faces that they had seen the article and had rushed from Ron's flat to see what Harry thought about this new development.

Hermione began talking very quickly, almost as soon as she entered the room, and did little more than succinctly summarize Harry's own thoughts. Ron just kept his eyes averted and kept a grim expression on his face.

"How do we feel about this?" Harry asked finally, taking advantage of a pause in Hermione's monologue.

"What do you mean Harry?" Hermione stuttered.

Harry rubbed his scar subconsciously. He imagined he could feel it prickling.

"Just that, well…" he trailed off. He didn't really know how to express what he meant.

Thankfully, Ron took a stab at it.

"We hate Lucius," he said, looking determinedly at Hermione, "We always have. Of course we're not happy that he's dead, but are we sad about it? Doesn't he deserve everything he got?"

Hermione looked appalled. "No, Ronald," she hissed, venomously, "No one deserves what the Prophet says Lucius got."

"But he was a Death Eater!" Ron almost shouted, "he tried to kill my little sister and Harry too! Who knows what other terrible things he's done! And he got off scot free! Are you trying to tell me he didn't deserve to be punished?"

"Of course he deserved to be punished, Ron," Hermione said, exasperated, "but not like this. He should have been sentenced to life in Azkaban, like the rest. Not mutilated, tortured and killed."

Ron looked ready to retort but Harry cut across him. "What about Draco and Narcisssa?" he asked. "What do you think happened to them?"

"Well, I really don't think they were involved," Hermione answered immediately, evidently as eager to avoid an argument as Harry was, "I think the Prophet's just looking for a scandal, and trying to avoid the fact that there might still be a group of Death Eaters loose out there, reforming."

Ron looked aghast. "A group? You think there's more than one?"

"I really doubt that one person would have been able to do that to Lucius and either scare the other Malfoys so bad that they fled or kidnap them."

Harry nodded in assent. That was exactly where his own train of thought was heading. "Do you think it might have been Voldemort's daughter? Do you think she's reforming a group of her dad's old mates?" He noticed that he had referred to the child as female for the first time. He really was starting to think that it might be Sarah Gray.

Hermione took a long time to answer. "The timing does seem a little strange. It's odd that this would happen so soon after Narcissa gave you that memory. And that would also explain why she didn't do the same to Narcissa and Draco as she did to Lucius. They would be the closest thing to family she has left, and they didn't betray Voldemort as terribly as Lucius did."

"Do you think we should still go see Flitwick today?" he asked, satisfied with her answer.

She bit her lip. "I think so."

They walked up out of the basement kitchen and toward the exit of the house. Harry was surprised that Ron followed and raised an eye brow at him. Though he and Ron had been getting along much better over the past few days, Ron had vehemently avoided becoming involved with Harry and Hermione's new mystery. He said that he had had his share of such things.

He just shrugged at Harry's confused look and said "When have I ever _not _followed you lot into danger?" Harry surprised himself by grinning and the three friends left the house together, ready to confront whatever they might find.

They had no trouble finding the house that Professor Flitwick had retired to. He had given them excellent directions and they could tell just by looking at the house that a wizard lived inside. It stood out conspicuously from the rest of the Muggle houses that lined the suburban street. It was brightly decorated even from the outside and there were strange creatures roaming about the lawn. Harry wondered whether Professor Flitwick had charmed the house, like the Leaky Cauldron, to be invisible to Muggles.

Harry knew as they climbed onto the porch outside the front door that something was not right. The house seemed too dark and there was an air of abandon about it. They had spoken to Flitwick mere days before, but it seemed as if no one had been in the house in a very long time.

Hermione and Ron seemed oblivious to the aura that Harry was perceiving and he watched as Hermione confidently raised her fist to knock. He wanted to shout out a warning but he felt detached from himself, as if he were watching the scene in slow motion from somewhere above, rather than through his own eyes.

No sooner had Hermione's fist touched the door when an explosion rent the air. Harry felt himself being thrown backward and he drew his breath deeply as he felt a paralyzing pain in his back. He climbed blindly onto his hands and knees: His glasses had been thrown from his face and he could hardly see through the smoky din. He knew he was shouting his friends' names, but he couldn't hear anything over the ringing in his ears. He crawled around, desperately feeling for a tuft of bushy hair or any other human trait. He could feel the heat of a fire that was burning all around him and his plight grew more desperate. It was getting harder to breathe with all the smoke and Harry felt consciousness trying to leave him. "Hermione," he croaked, "Ron," and he sank back to the ground. He felt soft hands turning him over, but he couldn't see who they belonged to. He didn't have to see. "Hermione," he whispered, and he sank into oblivion.

The first thing Harry was conscious of was a dull pain in his back. "That's odd," he thought. He could tell by the crisp sheets and the soft bed that he was lying in that he was somewhere safe, and he wondered why he hadn't been fully healed. With a great effort, he opened his eyes and saw nothing but blurry shapes gathered around him.

"He's awake," he heard a familiar voice squeal, and someone gently placed his glasses on his face.

He could now clearly see the figures gathered around him and could tell by the worried looks on their faces that he had been out for a long time. He was relieved to see Hermione and Ron standing next to his bed. They looked harried, but not injured. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were there, Mrs. Weasley with bloodshot eyes, and George stood a good distance away from Harry's bed. Harry was surprised to see that Professor McGonagall and Hagrid were there as well. For a split second he expected to see Lupin there, standing over his bed with a large block of chocolate, but of course he wasn't. Harry tried to sit up but an excruciating pain kept him lying there.

"Don't try to move just yet, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, moving closer to him and staying his shoulder with a shaky hand. "You gave us quite a fright."

"Are you two okay?" he asked Ron and Hermione and was surprised at the croak that escaped his lips.

"We're fine," Ron answered. Hermione said nothing but looked at him with watery eyes, "You got the worst of it."

"What happened," Harry croaked.

"We're not really sure. There was a curse set on Flitwick's house to explode as soon as anyone tried to go there. You landed on a piece of metal that came off the house." Ron's voice sounded flat and emotionless.

"And Flitwick?" Harry asked, hoping for the best.

"He wasn't there," Ron said quickly, "No one knows where he is."

Harry was torn between relief and fear. It seemed obvious that whoever had set up the house to explode had gotten to Flitwick first. Who knew what they were doing to him now?

"Hermione," Harry said, pleased to find that his voice was a bit less forced, "I think it's time we went to the Ministry."

"I know, Harry," she said quietly, "I've already told Kingsley everything we know. He's looking into it."

Relieved that the burden of solving this particular mystery had been lifted from him, Harry closed his eyes and against his will, he fell back to sleep.

He awoke to find the room considerably darker than it had been. He saw the night sky through the window and wondered how long he had been out. He reached a pained arm out to his nightstand and felt around for his glasses. Once he got them on, he found that most of his visitors had left. Only Ron and Hermione remained. Hermione sat in a chair beside his bed, her head resting beside his on the edge of his bed, her hand cupping his. She was sleeping soundly.

Ron slept too but he sat further away. His mouth hung open and his head lolled back without support.

From what he could tell, he was in St. Mungo's. He wondered again how long he had been out. He shifted uncomfortably in his bed, trying not to wake Hermione, but was unsuccessful. She woke immediately, lifted her head and smiled at him.

"You're awake," she said, squeezing his hand.

He tried again to sit up and was this time successful. He could feel a sharp pain coursing up his spine, but he had felt worse.

Hermione placed her free hand on Harry's cheek and kissed him gently on the forehead. She looked to be on the verge of tears. "We were so worried about you."

Harry heard Ron clear his throat loudly and Hermione quickly removed her hand from Harry's face, but defiantly kept her other hand in his. Ron was glaring at them.

"Hey, mate," Ron said, standing "Glad you're awake. Hermione, can I talk to you in the hall please?"

"No," she answered simply and looked back at Harry. Her eyes were fierce with anger.

Ron looked stunned. "Hermione," he tried again, and Harry could tell by his formal choice of words that he was trying very hard to keep his anger in check, "I would like to speak with you privately. I don't think our injured _friend_ needs to hear what I have to say to you." Harry noted the way Ron had emphasized the word friend, and if he hadn't been confined to his bed, he might have punched his best mate.

"No," Hermione said again, "You're right, Harry doesn't need to hear what you have to say, but I don't either. You're just going to say what you always say: Harry and I are too close. I don't really love you. If I don't stop seeing so much of Harry you're going to leave me. Well, right now I'm not really sure if that would be a bad thing. Your best mate is lying on this bed, having just woken after being near death, and the first thing you do is scold me for being happy that he's alive." Hermione paused and Ron tried to cut in, but she beat him to it.

"This ends now," she said forcefully. "Harry is my friend. I will say this for the last time: There is nothing between Harry and me and there never will be. I love him very much, but not the way I love you. He and I will always be as close as we are now and that will never change. If you can accept that, then you and I can finally be happy together. If you can't, then we're through."

Ron mouthed wordlessly for a minute and Harry cringed as he waited for the explosion. The last thing he needed was for his two friends to split up on his account.

To Harry's surprise, however, the explosion never came. Ron sank back into his chair, looking defeated. "You're right," he said finally.

Hermione looked as confused as Harry felt. Neither of them was quite sure with what Ron was agreeing.

"I've been a git and I'm sorry. I won't ever say another word about it."

Hermione looked pleased and Harry felt relieved. He could hear the sincerity in Ron's voice and could tell that Ron had finally accepted what had been so long in coming. Hermione walked over to her boyfriend and kissed him for such a long time that Harry had to look away. When they finally broke apart, and Harry looked back at them, he noticed that they were both flushed. He was amazed that even though they had been together for so long, they still had that effect on each other.

"Good, that's settled," Hermione said matter-of-factly, "so about our wedding?"

"What?" Harry and Ron said simultaneously, with equal amounts of shock.

"You asked me a year ago Ron and I said no. I only said no because I knew you still hadn't accepted that I love you and only you. Now that I know you're over it, I'm saying yes."

"How do you know the offer's still out there?" Ron asked playfully, and Hermione swatted him on the arm.

"Oh, Ron," she said, "are you really going to make me do this?"

"Yes," he said, with a grin bigger than Harry had ever seen him wear, "I think I am."

"Fine," Hermione said, grinning just as broadly, rolling her eyes but getting down on her knees. "Ronald Bilius Weasley, Will you marry me?"

Ron mock considered her question for a moment before sweeping her up off the ground into his arms and spinning her around, kissing her all the while.

"Of course I will," he said, and in that moment, Harry felt that he had never seen two people so perfect for each other.

Harry had never felt so annoyed at being stuck in a hospital bed, and that was saying something. After Hermione had purposed to Ron, the two had tried to return their attention to Harry, to see that he was recovering and show their concern, but he was not going to let his own injuries take these moments from them. They at first refused to leave, until he was forced to call a healer and tell her that he didn't want them visiting him, who in turn called security to have them removed.

He was still in a lot of pain, but couldn't help the grin that kept forming on his face. He was so happy for his friends that he could hardly contain his joy.

They managed to sneak in to see him a few times over the next few days. Harry refused to tell the Security Wizards that they were allowed in again for the sole reason that he thought the lengths they went to to sneak in were too funny.

Most of the Weasleys had dropped by again. Mrs. Weasley was absolutely thrilled that Ron would be marrying Hermione and preparations were already in full swing, though the couple insisted on waiting a while for the wedding. Ron's brothers were hardly giving him a moments rest: They wouldn't stop picking on him for letting Hermione purpose.

"Well, I purposed first," he grumbled one night in Harry's hospital room, while George, Percy and Bill all tormented him. His brothers apparently didn't think that the first proposal counted, as Hermione had said no.

Harry learned that Mrs. Weasley was preparing nothing short of a feast for Harry's upcoming twenty second birthday, which would be followed the next night by an engagement party for Ron and Hermione. Harry had at first refused the celebration in his honor, but Mrs. Weasley insisted, and Harry actually found himself looking forward to seeing some of his old friends, and taking this huge step back to normalcy.

Even with all the wonderful things that were happening, Harry kept finding his thoughts wander to Draco, Narcissa, and Flitwick. He wondered what might be happening to them while Harry and his friends celebrated.

Kingsley had stopped by and assured Harry that the Ministry, aided by the information Hermione had given them, was doing everything in their power to find those whose who were missing, and those responsible. Harry was reassured: With Kingsley as Minister for Magic he felt far more confident in their abilities, but he was still nervous about it all.

After a few weeks of lying stationary in his hospital bed while the bustle around him taunted him, he was finally told that he was being released. A healer had explained that the metal he had landed on had pierced his spine and the fact that he had been able to move immediately after was nothing short of a miracle. They had had to work hard to heal him, and for a while weren't sure whether he would be paralyzed. In the end, they had been able to heal most of the damage, but he was told that he'd probably feel some pain from his injury for the rest of his life.

"Great," he said to himself when he heard this, "I survived fighting Voldemort with hardly a scratch, but this hurts me."

Ron and Hermione arrived to escort him home, and he found that he needed Ron's support to walk. He was told that this much at least would get better.

Ron and Hermione assisted him home and insisted on staying with him at Grimmauld Place that night. He protested, but he was grateful for Ron's renewed interest in his well being.

Hermione had visited the ruins of Flitwick's house after the explosion, and she told Harry about what she had found.

"There wasn't much left," she told him, "but I did find this."

She handed Harry a framed photograph in which the glass was broken. Professor Flitwick was waving at him happily from within the frame. He didn't look that much younger than he had at Hogwarts. Standing next to him was a girl about sixteen. She was average height, though she looked tall standing next to Flitwick. She had long brown hair and was quite pretty. She wasn't waving like Flitwick, but was offering a shy smile. Then Harry noticed something that made his heart skip a beat. The girl had distinctly gray eyes.

"Sarah Gray," he whispered.

"Why would Flitwick have a picture of himself with a student?" Ron asked. Neither Harry nor Hermione could supply Ron with an answer.

After staring at the photograph for a few minutes, Harry handed it back to Hermione and pushed it out of his mind. The Ministry was dealing with it now and he no longer had to worry about it. They spent the rest of the evening talking and laughing.

At one point during the night Ron stood and clapped Harry hard on the back. He tried not to let the pain this caused him show on his face as he looked inquiringly up at Ron.

"Happy Birthday mate. Who would have thought you'd live to see twenty two."

Harry looked at the watch the Weasleys had given him for his seventeenth birthday and saw that it was after midnight. He agreed with Ron's sentiment that it was a shock that he had lived to see this day, but didn't voice the thought. Before he could say anything Hermione had thrown herself on him and given him a painful hug. Harry peered up at Ron's face through Hermione's bushy hair, trying to gauge his reaction, but Ron looked genuinely pleased.

"Happy Birthday Harry," she whispered, kissing him on the cheek. "You'll have to wait until your party for presents." She disentangled herself from him and went back to her seat on the floor across from him.

Harry woke earlier than the others the next morning, determined to sneak out of the house before they could question him. He had an errand to make and didn't want to be questioned. He returned a few hours later to find Ron and Hermione eating breakfast. He had left them a note so they wouldn't be worried.

They both wished him a Happy Birthday again and then left to go their separate ways. Hermione had work at the Ministry and Ron had to catch up at the joke shop. They had both been missing a lot of work lately.

Harry spent the day wandering around his house aimlessly. He was nervous about the party that evening for so many different reasons. He no longer liked large groups of people, even when the groups were comprised of people he knew and loved. He hated the claustrophobic feeling he got whenever he was surrounded.

He also wasn't looking forward to facing all of the Weasleys together. Despite the improvements he had made, he still felt guilty about Fred's death. He didn't know if he could handle being around all of his family at once.

There was one Weasley in particular though who he wasn't looking forward to seeing: Ginny. She would be there, probably with her boyfriend and Harry didn't know how he'd handle it. He knew he wouldn't cause a jealous scene or anything, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to talk to Ginny without being awkward.

The time for the party arrived and Ron and Hermione came to pick Harry up. The three Apparated to the Burrow together and found the place already crowded with people. Hermione tried to take Harry's hand but he pulled away. He had to face this on his own.

They had Apparated into the backyard where there was a long table set up. They moved forward into the glow that was emanating from strings of fairy lights that hung about the yard, and everyone around the table immediately stood to welcome them. All of the Weasleys were there, along with Luna, Neville, Hagrid, McGonagall, Dean Thomas, Kingsley, and Andromeda with Teddy. Harry had the familiar sensation of expecting a lot of people to be sitting around that table who couldn't possibly be there. They were conspicuous in their absence.

Fleur was surprisingly the first to reach him. She enveloped him in a hug and started covering his face with kissed.

"'Arry," she said, with only a trace of the heavy accent that once had been there, "eet 'as been too long." She had become far more affectionate and protective with the birth of her first child, Victoire.

He was almost torn from her grasp to be nearly suffocated by Hagrid. Many of the others followed suit, hugging and congratulating Ron and Hermione as soon as they had finished with Harry. Luna was one of the last to drift over to him and he noticed that her vacant eyes were twinkling. Dean was standing next to her, looking awkward. He realized that he hadn't seen Luna in almost two years. He had forgotten that she and Dean were dating now.

While catching up with Luna about her exploits abroad, Harry felt a light pressure on his legs and looked down to see Teddy hugging him as best he could. He disentangled himself from the hug and knelt down to be level with his godson.

"Teddy," he said, hugging the boy and then pulling back to hold him at arm's length and give him an appraising look. He found with the usual jolt that he was looking into Lupin's eyes. "I brought you something."

"But it's your birthday Uncle Harry," the boy said, looking like he was prepared to refuse the gift, no matter how tempting it might be.

"It's nothing special," he said nonchalantly, pulling a long, thin package from his robes. Teddy hesitated for only a second before taking it and ripping the paper. The look on his face was of pure joy. He looked disbelievingly at Harry, and Harry smiled.

"You were getting a little too old for that toy broom of yours. I think you're old enough now for a real Nimbus."

"Thank you Uncle Harry!" the boy screamed, knocking him backwards with the force of his hug.

"Just make sure you ask your Grandmother every time you use it." Harry was a little nervous about his gift. It was a Nimbus that was specially designed for children, but it was close enough to the real thing to be scary. It could reach heights of ten feet and could go about twenty five miles an hour. Still, what where godfathers for if not to spoil their godchildren with gifts their parents would never give them? Or, in this case, grandparents, he amended. He saw Andromeda give him an annoyed but indulgent look before Teddy had taken her attention by begging her to let him ride.

"Not until after dinner, Teddy," he heard her saying, over and over.

McGonagall reached him last, hobbling all the way, and gave him a stiff hug. Harry was surprised- He knew that after the war, Professor McGonagall had grown close with the Weasleys, and had spent quite a bit of time at the Burrow, but he had never really progressed beyond the teacher-student relationship with her they had at school.

"Happy Birthday Harry," she said curtly, but with warmth.

"Thanks, Professor," he mumbled, a bit awkwardly.

"That's enough of this 'Professor' nonsense," she reprimanded, "You will call me Minerva."

Harry just nodded in assent, knowing full well he'd be about as likely to call Professor McGonagall Minerva and he was to call Mrs. Weasley Molly, and began making his way to the table which was being laid with dinner. It took him a while to get there, and he was painfully aware of the way the crowd was trying not to watch him struggle. The healers had given him a cane, but he refused to use it. In this moment though, as he hobbled over to the table, gritting his teeth through the pain, he wished that he had brought it.

Finally, he made it to his seat between Ron and Hermione, and lowered himself painfully into it. Hermione quickly squeezed his hand under the table. She was beaming at him.

The dinner was excellent, probably the best Harry had eaten in years. He had missed Mrs. Weasley's cooking.

Next to him, Hermione was arguing with Bill about Goblin rights, while Bill did his best to convince Hermione that Goblins had enough power over them without being able to carry wands. Luna kept chiming in with her opinion that Goblins were really nothing more than wizards whose growth was stunted because of the infestation of Halimogs in Gringotts, and they shouldn't be considered any different from wizards anyway. Harry smiled at the effort Hermione was putting in to take Luna seriously.

Ron and George were talking about a new product they were working on for the shop: A portable doppelganger students could send to class for them. They had nearly completed the magic necessary, which was an impressive feat, but were having trouble getting Ministry approval. They seemed to be of the opinion that it could be used too easily by Dark wizards.

At some point, Harry became aware that Ginny was trying to catch his eye. She had been the only one not to greet him when he arrived, and Harry had not been surprised. They had barely said more than hello to each other over the last few years and Harry preferred it that way. He didn't like having to pretend that he didn't still have feelings for her.

He did his best now to ignore her completely, and forced a conversation with Dean, who was sitting across from him, looking like he felt out of place. Harry was at first in shock to hear that Dean and Luna were dating; he had always half-expected Luna and Neville to get together, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Dean had grown up quite a bit in the final year of the war, and Harry imagined that the two of them would have grown close during the time they spent in hiding together. Dean seemed grateful for Harry's attention.

"How's Seamus?" Harry asked. He hadn't seen him since the war.

"He's great," Dean answered. "He's working for the Department of Magical Games and Sports. He gets to help organize all the Quidditch games in Britain."

Dean and Harry passed the next few minutes talking about Quidditch, before Harry went back to his silent musings of the people around him. He was really glad he had come. He missed these people, and they all seemed to be doing well, despite their losses. He still noticed that they were a bit slower to smile than they once had been, and that George was the most changed of any of them, but they seemed genuinely happy.

"So Harry," Bill said, with a very serious look on his face, "What do you have planned for Ron's bachelor party?"

"Bachelor party?" he asked.

"You know," George chimed in, grinning "that party a bloke gets before his wedding to do whatever he wants without telling his wife."

"I know what a bachelor party is, but why are you asking me?" Harry asked, genuinely confused.

"Cause you're the best man," Bill said, as though he were explaining something very obvious to a very small child.

"Best man?" Harry said, beginning to feel a bit like a parrot.

"Well, of course," Ron said, joining the conversation, "you didn't think I'd pick any of this lot, did you?" He gestured at his brothers as he said this. "They'd just make a joke out of the whole thing."

In fact, Harry had assumed that Ron would be choosing one of his brothers to fill that all important roll.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Always modest," he said, and his voice took on a high pitched, woman's voice, "which is one of the things that makes him so charming."

Laughter erupted around the table and Harry felt as though he had missed something.

"What?" Harry asked, bemused. Ron hadn't been that funny, had he?

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, her eyes watering. "You haven't seen?"

"Er…no," he said, wondering what this could be about.

"Accio Witch Weekly," George said, summoning a magazine from somewhere within the house and handing it to Harry, looking as though he was about to burst.

Harry unrolled the magazine and looked at it in shock. His own face was staring back at him from what appeared to be another Muggle photo.

"Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award?" he read aloud in disbelief, and the laughter doubled all around him, "You've got to be kidding." He could feel his face growing warm. "When did this come out," he asked the table at large.

"A few days ago," George answered, "but don't worry. Ron gets an honorable mention."

Hermione fake swooned as she said "How lucky can a girl be? Marrying the man with Witch Weekly's seventh most charming smile."

Ron rolled his eyes but looked pleased.

"Come on, Harry," George said over the renewed laughter around the table, "read the article."

"George, no," Hermione whispered. The table was still laughing but Mrs. Weasley and a few others weren't.

"Oh come on, Hermione," Ginny said with a forced smile, "It's funny. I'm used to it by now."

Harry knew what Hermione's reaction must be about, but flipped through the pages to find the article.

_Ranking number one on our list as the wizard with the most charming smile is of course everyone's favorite green eyed hero, Harry Potter. As modest as he is handsome, the Boy Who Lived could very well now be known as the Man We Love. _

Harry mouthed these last three words as he read them and he could feel the table shaking as the laughter began again. He read on.

_With a past as tragic as his hair is careless, every witch finds herself wishing to be the woman Harry would finally open up to, and finally cry to. Sadly, Harry Potter's love life has been as tragic as his past. Long time girlfriend Ginny Weasley broke Harry's heart when she refused to return his affections after the war …_

Harry looked up at Ginny, but she was smiling. She really had put up with a lot since news of their split had reached the public's ears. The story had gotten muddled over the years and the general public believed that Ginny had ditched Harry, leaving him broken hearted and alone. He cringed to think how Ginny felt reading these things about herself. Harry had learned later that Ginny believed that after the war, Harry had forgotten about her. She only moved on because she was trying to get over him. But by the time Harry learned this, it had been too late. The negative press had toned down quite a bit once she had become a professional Quidditch player, and started making headlines on her own accord, but there was still the occasional jab.

He stopped reading the article for his own sake as much as Ginny's, and tried to change the subject.

Once the laughter had been subdued, Harry turned to George.

"Do you remember someone at Hogwarts named Sarah Gray," he asked, lowering his voice without noticing.

George considered the question for a moment, but didn't recognize the name.

"She would have been in the year above you, and in Ravenclaw," Harry pressed.

George just shook his head, but Percy chimed in from down the table, "I remember her Harry, why do you ask?"

"It's nothing," Harry said with forced nonchalance, "What do you remember about her?"

"Not much really. She was the year below me, and I didn't really see much of her. I remember Penny talking about her though." Percy seemed to be struggling to remember something he hadn't thought about in a long time. It had been quite a while, Harry mused silently, since Percy had been at Hogwarts: A prefect hiding his relationship with his girlfriend, before the rift with his family, before the Ministry, before Fred, before the war…

"She was very quiet. Penny used to tell me that she had been raised in a Muggle orphanage and nobody knew if she had been orphaned in the first Wizard war, or if she was Muggle born. Penny wasn't sure Sarah knew herself. Penny used to try to talk to her, and she said she was nice enough, but she would hardly say a word. She was brilliant though. I remember Penny telling me that the girl would sit up in her dormitory, inventing her own spells night after night. Everybody thought she was a little weird, but Penny thought she was just quiet."

Percy's account of Sarah Gray reminded Harry a bit of Snape.

"Hang on," Percy said, "Does this have something to do with why you three went to see Flitwick?" Harry didn't see the point in lying, and said yes.

"Why, were they close?" Harry asked, remembering the photo.

Before Percy could answer, Mrs. Weasley stood up and shouted "presents," and Harry was forced to abandon his interrogation.

"Now Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling broadly, "I hope you're not disappointed, but you'll only be getting one gift this year. We decided to all pitch in to get you something really special."

Harry blushed a bit, but smiled when he saw everyone around the table beaming at him.

Mrs. Weasley hovered a long, thin package from the kitchen and set it down on the table in front of Harry. Harry knew what it was instantly.

"It's too much," he managed, looking up at them all.

"At least pretend that you don't know what it is," George said grinning.

Harry slowly began to tear the brightly colored paper from the package, and wasn't at all surprised to find that it was a broom. But not just any broom: It was a Firebolt 1000.

"It's too much," he said again, but he couldn't help the grin that was stretching across his face.

He hadn't ridden a broom since the night he left the Dursleys' for the last time. His Firebolt had been so much more than a broom to him, and he had been reluctant to replace it. He hadn't thought much about it at the time- the deaths of Moody and Hedwig so eclipsing the loss of his broom, but that particular broom had represented so much to him. It had been a gift from Sirius, and he had spent so many happy days at Hogwarts flying on that broom. He felt that when it fell to the ground, a part of who he had once been had fallen with it, just like his broom, never to be recovered.

Of course, everyone around the table knew he could have at any time replaced his broom, but chose not to. He felt in this moment that they all knew him better than he knew himself. They had known that when he opened it, as he just had, and held it in his hands, as he was now, that old, deeply ingrained love of flying would reawaken in him, and all thoughts of Sirius, and of days gone by would leave him. They knew that the only thing he would be thinking was how soon he'd be in the air again.

"Thank you," he said with sincerity he could never properly voice, and then hugged them all in turn. He noticed that Ginny had at some point slipped away from them. He looked around the yard, but didn't see her anywhere. As soon as the attention started to ebb away from him, he slipped into the kitchen, not really sure what he was looking for.

Ginny was standing alone in the kitchen. Harry could still faintly hear the laughter and conversation from the yard, but all he could see was Ginny.

"Hi Harry," she said in an uncharacteristically quiet voice.

"Hi," he answered, not quite meeting her eyes.

"I wanted to give you your birthday present, but I didn't want to do it in front of all those other people."

Harry's heart began to race as he remembered the last time Ginny had taken him away from everyone to give him a birthday present. It was five years ago and it had been the best present he had ever gotten. He was silently hoping for a repeat. He was more than a little disappointed when she pulled a package from her robes.

"Thanks," he said awkwardly, "you really didn't have to get me anything."

"I didn't, actually," she said. "I actually got that for you years ago, and planned to give it to you for your eighteenth birthday, but then, you know…"

She trailed off and Harry didn't press her.

"Well anyway, you have it now. Go on, open it!"

He slowly unwrapped it to find a framed photograph. He saw himself, about one year old, sitting precariously on his father's shoulders, a look of pure joy on his face. His father was struggling to hold on to him while he squirmed happily. Beside them, Harry's mother was looking up at him, occasionally throwing out a cautionary hand to steady him. Lupin and Sirus were there too, looking just as happy as the small family.

"I offered to help Andromeda clean out Lupin and Tonks' things after the war," Ginny explained. "I didn't want her to have to face it alone. Well, I found this and I thought you might like it. Andromeda said I could have it."

"Oh Gin," Harry said, tearing his eyes away from the photograph and looking into her nervous, deep brown eyes for the first time since he had entered the room. They were standing closer than they had in years.

In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to envelop her small frame into his arms; to hold her there, breathing in her still familiar flowery scent, and to keep her there forever, keeping her from all harm, erasing all the pain from her eyes that he himself had put there.

He wanted to say something. He wanted to say many things, but the words got caught in his throat.

"Gin, I…"he managed and then the kitchen door slammed. They both jumped, startled, and Harry whipped around to find Percy standing there, looking very protective.

"There's an owl for you Harry," he said stiffly.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled as he left the kitchen, without looking back at Ginny.

He found the party still going strong outside. He slid back into his seat unnoticed by everyone except Hermione. She gave him a sympathetic look that told Harry she had some idea of what had just happened.

A large owl landed on the table in front of him, looking haughty and proud. Harry began to detach the rolled parchment from its leg, eager for a distraction.

"We tried to take it off for you, Harry, but the owl wouldn't let us." Hermione said. She was still looking at him as though she were trying to tell by his expression what had happened in the kitchen. Harry unrolled the parchment and found a short, neatly written note.

_Happy Birthday Harry,_

_I sincerely hope you enjoy my gift. I believe the Acromantulas will as well._

The note wasn't signed. Harry stared at the letter, confused, until the owl who had delivered the letter hooted and held out his other leg. There was something else there. Harry pulled off what seemed to be a photograph and unrolled it. His heart seemed to stop and he dropped it immediately.

Looking out at him from the photograph, with pained and terrified expressions, were the Dursleys. They all looked bloody and beaten, and they squirmed in pain as curses were fired at them repeatedly from outside the frame. Harry could tell by the silent screams on his only blood relative's faces that the Dursleys now knew exactly what the Cruciatus curse felt like.


	5. Demented Dudley?

Harry's surroundings felt surreal as he stared at the photograph where it lay on the table. The conversation around him became nothing more than a meaningless hum and the beating of his heart echoed in his head.

In a flash the conversation he had with his uncle five years before played back in his mind, so vividly he could see it clearly.

"He thinks by holding you hostage I'd come and try to rescue you," he remembered, and Harry had known he and his uncle had both been wondering the same thing.

Now, when his relatives were supposed to be out of danger, Harry was again considering that once hypothetical situation.

There really wasn't much of a decision to make- as awful as they had treated Harry, he'd have to try to rescue them. He couldn't leave them to torture and death no matter how he felt about them, even if it hadn't been on his account that they were in such a situation.

All of these thoughts passed through Harry's mind in less than ten seconds while he stared stupidly at the photo, but it felt to him that a lifetime had elapsed. Without a word to anyone, he felt for his invisibility cloak under his robes, stood up and Apparated away from his party. The last thing he saw before the pressing sensation closed in on him was Hermione reaching for the photo where he had left it on the table.

He Apparated directly outside the gates at Hogwarts. The note had said the Dursleys would be left to the Acromantulas and Harry knew the Forbidden Forest was the only place in Britain they could be. He threw his invisibility cloak over his body, and passed through the already open gates. He started out walking but before he knew it he had broken into a full run.

He reached the Forbidden Forest to find it more dense and more difficult to navigate than he remembered. Through his consuming shock he thought about the last time he had entered this forest. He had been wearing his invisibility cloak then too, though that time he hadn't been alone.

He pushed all thoughts of that terrible night from his mind- now was not the time for self pity. It wasn't time for panic either, he realized. He had been running through the forest without direction but now he stopped, steadying his breath, and listening. He could hear distant screaming to his left. He ran toward it. He tripped over a tree root and his cloak became caught on it. Without bothering to free it, he ran on, no longer invisible.

He hadn't planned on running directly into the clearing where his relatives were being tortured. If he had known how close he had gotten he would have stopped and attempted some sort of stealth, but now he found himself standing mere feet away from the Dursleys. He had a split second to take in the situation. Uncle Vernon was bloody and unconscious and Harry couldn't tell if he was breathing. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were bound behind Vernon to a tree, not looking much better. They hadn't yet noticed that Harry was there.

Curses were flying but stopped the moment Harry entered the clearing. A figure stood before them, cloaked in gray, her hood obscuring her face, with only her gray eyes visible through the shadows. Their eyes met and for a second nothing happened.

Then Harry raised his wand and shouted "_Expelliarmus_."

She blocked his spell easily and sent one back at him. They fought furiously, dodging, blocking and throwing curses as if it were a choreographed routine. All panic and all fear had left Harry the moment he had started fighting.

She was good. He didn't know how much longer he'd be able to hold her off.

Finally, Harry missed blocking a curse and it hit him squarely in the chest. He was thrown backwards and barely had time to register that it had only been a stunner. His wand flew from his hand and he was left defenseless. He scrambled back to his feet, searching the overgrowth for his wand, waiting for the killing curse to hit him for the third time in his life, but it didn't come. He found his wand and spun to counter the next attack, but she was gone. She had fled into the forest. Harry considered following her but knew he'd never find her. He quickly put protections around them so she wouldn't be able to find them again and then ran to his injured relatives.

"Harry," Petunia croaked and he could see she was struggling to remain conscious, "you came."

Harry freed Petunia and Dudley from the ropes that were binding them and began healing Vernon's wounds. Petunia looked on with amazement, while Dudley wore a strange smile. When he had finished healing Vernon's wounds, he pointed his wand at him and said "_Renervate_." His eyelids began to flutter and satisfied, Harry moved on to Petunia.

"Will he be alright?" she asked in a wavering voice.

"Course he will," Dudley said and Harry saw that he was still wearing that strange smile.

Petunia was still looking imploringly at Harry so he nodded and said, "I think so."

It looked as though Sectumsempra had been used on all of them and Harry felt nauseas as he healed them.

"How do you feel?" he asked his aunt.

"Much better," she said, in an uncommonly kind voice. Harry had thought that they would blame him for this, and was surprised to hear gratitude coming from her. No sooner had he thought this when Uncle Vernon woke up.

Harry felt lucky that Vernon didn't have the strength to totally speak his mind. He did manage to tell Harry that it was all his fault though before Petunia shushed him.

Harry moved on to his cousin, who was still grinning as though he were mad. Harry wondered for a second if he had gone the way of Neville's parents.

"That's seriously cool, Harry," Dudley said as Harry healed the gashes across his torso.

"Er… yeah, it comes in handy," was all Harry could say.

"_You _were seriously cool."

Harry glanced uneasily up at his cousin while he continued to heal him.

"You're going to need St. Mungo's," Harry said, and then amended himself, "It's a wizard hospital."

"Cool," Dudley said, and Harry looked up fully now, seriously concerned for his cousin.

"Are you okay, Dudley?" he asked, and Dudley nodded vigorously.

"So, you're like the best wizard there is, right?"

Harry snorted with laughter and went back to healing Dudley's wounds. "Not quite," he answered.

"Oh, don't be so modest Harry," a voice said behind him and Harry was immediately on his feet, his wand raised, but it was only George.

Ron and Hermione came up behind him followed by the rest of the guests who had been at his birthday party. He lowered his wand and finished with Dudley.

"What were you thinking," Hermione scolded, looking fierce, "coming here all alone. We were right there! We could have helped you!"

"How did you get past the barrier I set up?" Harry asked, ignoring her question.

"I taught you those spells. I know your style," she answered quickly, "but you're not getting off that easily."

"Can we talk about this later?" he asked, "We need to get them to St. Mungo's."

Hermione huffed but turned a stone into a portkey. She embarrassedly looked up at Kingsley, realizing that she'd just created an unauthorized portkey right in front of the Minister for Magic.

"You have my approval," he grinned.

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley shouted, running into the clearing, out of breath. "How could you leave us there like that, with no clue where you'd gone?"

"I'm sorry," he said, getting annoyed, "but I handled myself okay."

"He was amazing," Dudley chimed in. Harry ignored him.

"She was here," he said pointedly to Ron and Hermione. It was now that he noticed that Ron hadn't yet said a word. He looked pale and shaky.

Hermione's eyes widened,"Is it definitely her?"

Harry nodded and looked at Kingsley.

"I'll need to speak with you later, Harry," Kingsley said.

"Didn't you lot say something about a hospital?" Vernon said weakly from where he lay on the ground and Hermione went over to them, explaining how a portkey worked. A moment later they were gone.

-888-

Harry had a hard time convincing everyone that he hadn't acted foolishly. His task was made harder by the fact that he knew he had.

"There was no time," he insisted, but the truth was, he hadn't even considered telling anyone. He was through putting others in danger.

But now he had another problem to think about. The Dark Lady, as he, Ron, and Hermione had taken to calling her, seemed to have a vendetta against him.

"Finishing what Daddy started," Harry said bitterly one night, while he sat with his friends in front of the fire at Grimmauld Place.

As much as they didn't want to be drawn into another mystery, or another war for that matter, they couldn't help discussing it at every possible moment. The conversation always came back to the Malfoys, and to Flitwick. They couldn't help trying to deduce where they might be, and what might be happening to them.

Harry had met with Kingsley the evening of the attack on the Dursleys, and had told him everything he knew of Sarah Gray. Kingsley had assured him that the Ministry would do everything they could to find the woman, and begged Harry not to get involved. He couldn't be sure, but Harry got the feeling that Kingsley had given him a tail again.

Ron and Hermione's engagement party had gone on as planned, but it wasn't the exciting affair everyone had been hoping for. There was a familiar air of nervousness among the guests who knew what had happened the night before, and it felt too much like Voldemort had returned. Of course it wasn't quite at the level it had been during the last war, but he knew they were all feeling the same uneasiness.

Harry had been hoping for a moment alone with Ginny, but she had brought her boyfriend, and Harry was forced to accept that the moment that had passed between them didn't mean anything. He spent most of the night avoiding her gaze.

The third day after the attack on the Dursleys, Harry received an owl from St. Mungo's. Apparently his relatives were asking for him. He really didn't want to go, but he felt he had too. He wasn't going to apologize, but if it weren't for him, they wouldn't have been kidnapped in the first place. He didn't feel as guilty as he could have, but the guilt was still there.

Hermione offered to accompany him, but he decided to go alone. Coming up on Purge and Dowse, Ltd., he whispered to the dummy in the window who beckoned for him to enter. The hospital was full of witches and wizards too busy with their injuries to cause a riot at his appearance there. He limped past the welcome witch with his head down, trying his best not to be noticed.

He had forgotten the pain he was in during his rescue of the Dursleys, but it had now come back worse than ever. It seemed running at full speed and dueling a powerful witch didn't do much to help his recovery.

Harry reached the lift and pushed the button for the floor he knew his relatives to be staying on. The lift was thankfully empty, but when he reached his floor, and the doors opened, a group of witched greeted him.

"It's Harry Potter!" an elderly witch squealed in a voice that sounded many years younger than its speaker. The young witch standing next to her actually fainted. He quickly skirted around the group, making his way toward his relative's room, but they followed, shouting praise and thanks, and asking for autographs. Harry smiled awkwardly at them before ducking into his relative's room and hurriedly shutting the door. He heard giggling behind him.

He turned to see Aunt Petunia and Dudley, looking pale but generally alright, lying on beds next to Uncle Vernon, who appeared to be sleeping. Harry knew by the lack of snores coming from his Uncle that he was merely feigning sleep.

"You're famous," Dudley said, and that stupid grin was still splattered on his face.

Harry just ran his fingers through his hair and tried to keep his face from reddening more than it already had.

Vernon and Petunia hadn't changed very much in appearance over the years, but Dudley certainly had. He was thinner, but still muscular. Harry wondered what he had done with his life. It felt strange seeing them at all, much less in the wizarding world. He didn't quite know how to act.

"How are you feeling?" he asked his aunt. She actually smiled at him.

"The doctors here are excellent," she said.

"Not doctors, Mum, Healers," Dudley corrected, and Harry had to force back a laugh.

"And Vernon?" he asked, gesturing at his uncle's still form.

"Oh, he's fine," Petunia said, casting an almost angry look at her husband.

"Thanks for rescuing us, Harry," Dudley said sincerely. Despite Dudley's apparent new admiration of magic, Harry was taken aback.

"Er.."

"Yes, thank you Harry," Aunt Petunia said, and Harry noticed that her voice was still much kinder than any voice she had ever used with him before.

"Er…It was sort of my fault that you lot were there in the first place," he said, not quite accepting this change in his aunt and cousin.

"Too right you are," Uncle Vernon spat from his bed, no longer feigning sleep.

Harry just looked blankly at his Uncle, but Petunia shushed him with force he'd never heard her use with her husband before.

"That's enough of that, Vernon. Harry didn't have to rescue us. He could have left us there."

Vernon's face turned a familiar shade of purple, but he didn't speak again. He just crossed his arms and looked away from Harry.

A witch in lime green robes entered the room and Harry knew her to be a healer.

"Mr. Potter," she said, shaking his hand and obviously struggling to hold on to her professionalism, "It's an honor."

"Er…, thanks," Harry mumbled. He had never learned how to answer this sort of comment.

"It's good to see you up and about again," she continued, and Harry wasn't sure whether she was referring to his recent stay in the hospital, or his reputation as a recluse.

"Are they okay?" he asked, gesturing toward his relatives.

"Oh, yes. We would have discharged them yesterday but we kept them here for their own safety."

Harry looked at her confused, and noticed that Petunia looked fearful.

"You think they'll be attacked again?" he asked.

"Yes, but not by whomever did this."

"Then, who?" Harry did not understand the witch.

"Word has spread that your Muggle relatives are being treated here," she explained, as though it were enough, but Harry pressed her.

"The wizarding world is very protective of you, Mr. Potter," she said, "we've had to keep guards on this floor to keep your relatives safe since they arrived."

"But why would wizards want to attack them to protect me? They don't know about my past with them."

Comprehension dawned on the witch's face. "You haven't read your biography," she said rather than asked.

"Er…No," Harry answered, beginning to understand.

The healer cast an angry look at the Dursleys and he knew that she at least had.

"Frankly, Mr. Potter," she said, drawing herself up to her full height, "I'm shocked that you felt the need to rescue them after the treatment you received by their hands. It only goes to show that you are a better man than most."

She moved over to the door and, with one last angry look at the Dursleys, said, "I will ready the discharge papers."

Harry stared at the door as it swung shut behind the healer. How awful was the biography? He heard Aunt Petunia sniff and looked around at her. He saw that her eyes were a bit watery. Dudley was looking down at his lap and Uncle Vernon was pretending to sleep again.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Aunt Petunia spoke. "I'm sorry Harry," she said, "for everything." She spoke quietly, but her eyes were locked with Harry's.

Harry didn't respond. It wasn't enough. Nothing would ever be enough and they both knew it. Too much had happened, too many years had passed and too many days had he suffered at her uncaring hands. Her eyes spoke of regret, though, and while Harry knew he'd never completely forgive her, and would probably never see her again after this day, it was enough the make him offer her a small smile. He saw his mother in her eyes for the second time in his life.

"That woman was right," she quietly admitted, "You're a better man than most. My sister would be proud."

Harry couldn't have responded if he wanted to this time. He was saved the obligation when Dudley broke in.

"How are we getting home?" he asked excitedly, apparently deciding that his mother's apology had cleared the air, "Are we taking a portkey thingy again?"

"I don't think so," Harry said, grateful for his cousin's lack of tact in interrupting, "They're illegal unless approved by the Ministry."

Dudley looked disappointed. "But your friend made one. Can she do it again? Is she your girlfriend? She's pretty."

Harry grinned at Dudley. He had never seen him like this before.

"No, that's just Hermione. She's my best mate, and she's engaged to my other best mate. And she wasn't supposed to make the portkey that brought you here."

"Well, can we go in a fire? I saw your friends do that before. Can we do that?"

"I don't think that works for Muggles," Harry answered, and then more to himself, "and we couldn't side-along Apparate either, I don't think."

"Is that when you disappear? I saw your mates dad do that once. It was seriously cool."

"Yeah," Harry answered, rubbing his forehead. How was he going to get them back? He didn't want to have to walk them through the hospital, past all the witches and wizards who would now have a personal vendetta against them. He considered owling Kingsley and asking for authorization to make another portkey.

He was saved from his dilemma though when the door opened again, admitting Hermione, and two official looking wizards, dressed in Muggle suits.

"What's going on?" Harry asked Hermione.

"We're their guard," she answered, "Kingsley provided a Ministry car, and these gentlemen and I are going to escort the Dursleys home."

"So are you an Auror now?" Harry teased.

"No, but Kingsley wanted someone who he knew wouldn't cause the Dursleys any physical harm to keep watch. It seems he couldn't trust any of the Aurors." Harry turned a chuckle into a cough.

The Dursleys prepared to leave, and Harry decided to accompany them back to Privet Drive, to keep Hermione from exploding on them. She might be trusted not to cause them physical harm, but he knew she probably had a few words to say to them.

None of the Dursleys spoke as they made their way out of St. Mungo's. They kept their eyes averted as the witches and wizards they passed sneered at them. Thankfully, only a few of them shouted out any angry comments.

As soon as they got into the Ministry supplied car, Dudley regained his new, inquisitive nature and Harry spent much of the ride answering his questions about the wizarding world.

After a while, Aunt Petunia spoke again. "So where can I get a copy of this biography of yours?" she asked with forced nonchalance.

"Why do you want it?" Harry asked, bemused.

She looked directly at him. "How else will I learn about the heroic life of my only nephew?"

Vernon snorted and everyone in the car ignored him.

"I can get you a copy, Mrs. Dursley," Hermione said quickly, and he could tell she wanted the Dursleys to read what had been written about them, "That is if you don't mind an owl showing up at your window."

Petunia thanked Hermione and looked back out the window, but Dudley it seemed wasn't finished with the subject.

"I can't believe how famous you are," he said, "Of course we knew when we were in hiding, but we didn't see many people other than Hestia and Dedalus."

"How was that, anyway?" Harry asked, "Hiding with wizards?"

"Boring, mostly," Dudley answered. "But we got to listen to Potterwatch sometimes. That was really cool. Everyone said that you were going to save them all, and we didn't believe it at first, but then you did. Hestia and Dedalus left in a hurry one night, saying there was a battle at Hogwarts and when they came back, they said that you had done it. You killed you-know-who and saved them all, and you even tried to let him kill you to save them."

Harry couldn't believe that his cousin had just referred to Voldemort as you-know-who. He had apparently learned a lot while in hiding with wizards.

"They said you were a hero," Dudley said proudly, "and I told them about the time you saved my life from those Dementor things, and now you've done it again."

Harry couldn't believe the change that had come over his cousin. Telling him that he wasn't a waste of space was one thing, but this doting pride was entirely another.

The car pulled up outside number four, Privet Drive, and Harry looked out at it through the tinted car window.

"Can I write to you?" Dudley asked. Harry was distracted by the familiarity of the house he hadn't seen in five years, and didn't answer at first. He had visions of a flying car hovering outside his bedroom window, of Dumbledore walking up the drive, of letters flying in through every possible entrance, and of leaving with a guard of Order members, most of whom were now dead.

"Sure," he answered finally, tearing his gaze from the house, "Mrs. Figg probably has an owl you can use."

Dudley was gaping at him. Harry realized that he had never told the Dursleys what Mrs. Figg really was.

Harry considered walking his relatives into the house, but he had no desire to be within those walls again. Vernon grumbled something that Harry couldn't distinguish, then got out of the car. Harry suspected something had broken within his uncle when his family changed their opinion of Harry. Aunt Petunia looked at Harry for a moment, as though she were going to say something else, but then followed her husband out of the car, waiting for Dudley. Dudley said an enthusiastic goodbye, then joined his parents by the side of the road. One of the Aurors stayed with them to put protection on the house in case anyone tried to kidnap them again.

As the car pulled away, Harry felt sure he'd never see any of them again. It felt different somehow than it had the night they had been taken into hiding. This felt more final, more complete. He watched through the window as the house grew smaller, then turned to speak with Hermione, and didn't look back.

* * *

**A/N: **I agonized over Aunt Petunia's apology to Harry. I wanted some sort of closure between them, but I didn't want either of them to fall out of character to get it. I think what I eventually settled on was alright, but I'm eager to know what everyone thinks. Was it too contrived? 


	6. Hermione's Annoying Habit

Harry was running. He was running as though he was being chased by an army of Inferi and his life depended on it. He was in a cemetery he vaguely recognized to be the cemetery where Voldemort had been reborn but the setting hardly mattered. Everything else was always the same, no matter where he found himself. It was always the same dream and though he knew it to be in his mind, he still felt that paralyzing fear and guilt that the dream caused every time.

He tripped over a small gravestone and struggled to find his feet before they could catch up to him, but his legs wouldn't obey. He was trapped on the ground to face what was coming for him by his own inability to move. He didn't want to roll over; he wanted to keep his face buried in the wet ground of the cemetery, but he had no choice. A force stronger than himself seemed to turn him over. He lay on the ground, wet and shaking, waiting as they descended upon him. They were near.

There were dark, shadowy figures coming into his field of vision. Slowly they moved toward him and one by one he could make out their faces.

As was usual, Cedric Diggory was the first to appear.

"Why didn't you try to save me, Harry?" he asked, accusingly, "You didn't even try." The boy who would forever remain a boy looked at him with hollow eyes. His face was sunken and beginning to decay. His hair was matted with mud and what looked to be blood. He still wore the robes he had been wearing the day he died.

"I died for you," came a familiar, gruff voice from Harry's right and he turned against his will to see Moody limping toward him. "My death was pointless. I died to save a selfish boy who lets others die in his place, one by one." Moody's magical eye was missing and only a gaping hole was left. Harry thought he saw worms moving around in the emptiness.

He knew what was coming next before it happened and did everything he could to block out the voice, but he never could. Sirius was standing over him, looking worse even than he had while living on rats on the run from the Ministry.

His voice wasn't as loud as the others but Harry had no trouble understanding his godfather.

"You were a fool."

"No," Harry managed, but couldn't continue.

"You were a fool to believe I was at the Ministry. YOU killed me Harry. IT WAS YOUR FAULT."

His last words seemed to form in the air as he spoke, hovering over Harry's face, glowing in his eyes, repeated by Lupin and Tonks who were coming into his vision.

"You let us die, Harry."

The hollow, reasoned tone in Lupin's voice was the worst.

"We fought that night because you were too stupid to enter Hogwarts unnoticed. You were too stupid to break into Gringotts without Voldemort learning what you'd done. We came that night to defend you, we laid down our lives for you, and now in repayment, you live an empty, meaningless life."

"Our son will never know his parents, Harry," Tonks spat. Her hair was a dull, lifeless gray and she lacked all of the spirit she had in life. "Our little boy; orphaned before he could form a single memory of us. And for what? What have you done to be so deserving of our sacrifice? You're not even a good godfather. You're nothing more to him than an estranged Uncle who buys him expensive gifts to make up for not being there…"

Fred came into view. His face looked deader than the rest and Harry assumed it was because he had hardly ever seen Fred without a smile on his face. He wasn't laughing. He wasn't joking. He was just staring at Harry with cold, dead eyes.

Dobby moved forward and his wide eyes were not full of worship, but of a desperate hate. He, like Fred, didn't speak, but his cold, accusing expression was enough to tell Harry how he felt.

And then all at once there were more of them. Everyone. Everyone who had died in battle, everyone who had died in the war, all circling around him, shouting out abuse, crowding in on him, pulling at his robes and his arms and his hair with their cold, dead hands.

"No," he managed again, "I didn't mean it. I didn't mean for any of you to die."

Sirius' cold hard laugh came to him through the crowd, "But still we are dead. We are dead because of you…"

"No," Harry whispered, "No. No. No…" His voice trailed off as they closed in on him and he found he couldn't speak. He couldn't breathe.

And then he was alone. He was in his bed in Grimmauld place with no one there but the images of the dead etched on his memory. He was covered with sweat and he could feel his face wet with it, mingling with his tears. His blankets were twisted around him and he struggled to catch his breath.

The dream had been the same as it always was: The faces of the dead accusing him while he looked on, unable to defend himself. And as always, Dumbledore and Harry's parents had been curiously absent. He briefly wondered why this was and then did everything he could to push the dream from his memory.

He glanced at his watch and saw that it was barely three-o-clock. He rolled over, knowing that sleep wouldn't come again that night. There was nothing for it but to wait and watch the minutes slowly tick by as the pale moonlight gave way to the bright morning sun.

-888-

"So let's get this straight," Ron said as he, Harry, and Hermione sat again discussing recent events, "She killed Lucius Malfoy because he wasn't loyal to you-know-who.

"And we don't know whether Narcissa and Draco went with her willingly or were forced," Harry added.

"And she took Flitwick presumably because he knows something about her that she doesn't want to get out," Hermione interjected, "And the Dursleys…"

"She took to get to me," Harry finished for her.

They had gone over it over and over again and they weren't getting anywhere. Harry felt much like he did in the days of Voldemort's reign as they hunted for Horcruxes.

"I don't know why we keep talking about this," Ron said, "It's not like it's some big mystery. We know what she's done and we know why she's doing it."

"But something just doesn't feel right about it," Hermione said almost to herself and Harry nodded fervently. Hermione had just voiced what he had been feeling for a while now. It seemed straightforward but there was something nagging at him, as though he were missing something very important and painfully obvious.

"Doesn't feel right?" Ron said incredulously, "It better not bloody feel right. There's a new Dark witch wreaking havoc and killing people. What could _feel right _about that?"

Hermione didn't answer. She seemed lost in her own thoughts.

Ron seemed bolstered by Hermione's uncharacteristic lack of retort.

"You're just looking for a mystery here. You're afraid the Ministry won't be able to handle it and you're looking to solve it yourself, but the Dark Lady…"

"_Don't _call her that, Ron," Hermione scolded, "You're only giving her the credit she's aiming for. Next thing you know, you'll be afraid to say _her _name too."

"But it's not like she came up with the name," Ron argued, "It's completely different. She's only going…"

Hermione's eyes suddenly grew wide and a look of shock and understanding appeared on her face, cutting Ron off as he noticed. Harry half expected her to Disapparate to the Hogwarts library.

"What?" Harry asked, eager to know what she was thinking.

"What if…But no, it can't be…unless…"

"What?" he and Ron said simultaneously.

"I need to check something," she said, standing up from the chair she was sitting in and knocking it over as she did. Harry had half a mind to grab her and keep her from leaving them in the dark but she was out of the room before he could react. He followed her into the hallway, asking her what she was thinking but she just told him again that she needed to check something and he knew it was a lost cause. He watched her walk out the door, greatly annoyed, and shared a commiserating look with Ron.

-888-

Harry and Ron spent the rest of the evening idly filling time until Hermione would return and let them in on her thoughts. They played a few games of wizard's chess, but it couldn't hold either of their attention. Harry had gotten a little better with his own set of pieces, but Ron had improved as well and still usually slaughtered him in less than ten minutes.

"It's good for you," Ron said grinning, as he put his chessmen away, "Knock that overweening pride of yours down a notch."

Harry smiled at Ron's sarcasm and cast around for a topic that wouldn't lead them back to the Dark Lady. He was saved by the entrance of Kreacher into the room.

"Master Harry," he croaked.

"You don't have to call me that, Kreacher. Just Harry will do." He had been trying to persuade the elf to stop calling him master for years- It made him feel like a slave driver. He didn't want to give him a direct order though because he knew Kreacher would have a hard time obeying and end up punishing himself often.

Kreacher ignored him and handed him the Evening Prophet, which had just arrived, and then bowed before limping back out of the room.

Harry unrolled the paper and groaned. There was a picture of Hermione kissing him on the cheek above which read the headline "Harry's Heart Broken Again."

"You've got to be kidding," Harry said, not altogether surprised, "There's a Dark witch on the loose and this is all they can print."

"What?" Ron asked.

Harry didn't really want to show him the paper for fear of Ron's jealousy resurfacing, but handed it to him anyway. To his surprise, Ron just laughed and started reading aloud.

_"Harry Potter's heartbreak will never end it seems. After the devastating loss of Harry's girlfriend Ginevra Weasley, seeker for the Holyhead Harpies, he found comfort in the arms of his best friend and closest ally Hermione Granger. The two shared a long and meaningful relationship that was suddenly cut short by Hermione's betrayal. The woman, who also dated former Bulgarian Quidditch legend Viktor Krum, recently became engaged to Harry's other best friend, Ronald Weasley. There is no word on how Harry is reacting to this terrible blow and to losing his girlfriend and best friend in one foul swoop, but we can only assume he is devastated."_

Ron laughed again and threw the paper aside. "Sorry, mate," he said, "didn't mean to steal your girl."

"I guess I can forgive you," Harry joked, "but you might want to watch out for Krum."

-888-

The two friends waited a few more hours for Hermione to return before Ron announced that he was going to bed. Harry was starting to get worried, but Ron seemed less than concerned.

"She'll be alright," he assured Harry, "She's probably just got her nose in a book somewhere and forgot that we exist."

Harry tried to follow Ron's example and go to bed, but he just couldn't shake the feeling that something was not right. He sat for a while in his study, thinking about the last few years of his life.

Ron and Hermione were getting married. It just seemed so strange. So much had happened since he'd met them both on the Hogwarts express almost fifteen years ago, but it felt like hardly any time had passed. Harry wondered what Ron would have said all those years ago, when Hermione burst in on them while Ron tried to turn Scabbers yellow, if Harry had told him that he'd end up marrying that bushy haired know it all. He still couldn't get over the fact that they weren't eleven anymore. Or sixteen for that matter.

They were officially and inescapably adults, but Harry supposed that was nothing new.

He opened his desk drawer and pulled out the photo album that Hagrid had made for him all those years ago. Harry had added a few pictures of his own and there was now one of him, Ron, and Hermione, standing in front of the castle in their second year. Colin Creevey had taken it and Harry tried to push the image from his mind of the little boy's dead body being carried into the castle.

Harry stood in the middle with an arm draped around each of his best friends' shoulders. It had been taken early in the year, before the basilisk had been let loose. All three of them were smiling and looked truly happy. Harry realized that he hadn't really seen such carefree expressions on his two friends' faces much after that time. They spent third year worrying about Sirius, fourth year about the Triwizard tournament, and then of course, Voldemort. And then the deaths began and they could never smile that innocently again. That sparkle would never light their eyes like it did that day.

Harry found himself grieving for those three children waving out at him. It wasn't fair. They had been robbed of their youth and forced to grow up too soon and those three happy kids would never have another chance to just be kids. It was the first time he had found himself grieving not for the dead but for the living and he was surprised to feel a tear streak slowly down his cheek. It just wasn't right.

And then Teddy Lupin appeared in his mind.

Little Teddy, smiling as he rode his new broom for the first time with the pure joy only a child can feel.

And Victoire, the beautiful little toddler with her mother's blonde hair and her father's cheerful disposition.

A vision of a somewhat older Ron and Hermione welcoming their first child into the world without any fear of war or death.

A vision of a Hogwarts sorting with the first years' fears stemming only from what house they would be put into, and not from whether they'd be getting an owl that their parents had been killed.

And then Harry knew. For the first time, he finally understood. Sirius, Dumbledore, his parents, Tonks, Lupin, Fred and all the rest hadn't died for him. Not really anyway. They had died for all of them. They had died for this world, which would keep on living thanks to them. They had died so that little Teddy could ride his broom and Victoire could grow up happy and Ron and Hermione could have the life they deserved. They had died so that war and violent death would be an intangible thing from the past and not an everyday occurrence. So that the light in the next generation of wizards' eyes would never have to be extinguished. They hadn't died for him, they had died for them all.

At last Harry felt the burden of guilt and grief that had weighed him down all these years leave him. It was almost a physical relief to him. There would be no more regret, he knew. He was finally free to live the life he should have been living all along.

He stood up and started walking around the room. He wanted to wake Ron and find Hermione and go somewhere with them. He wanted to forget about Voldemort, and the Dark Lady, and just live…

He took his wand out of his pocket and struggled to remember the spell to cast a talking Patronus. Hermione had taught him years ago, but he hadn't really had occasion to use it. After at least a dozen tries, he finally managed to produce it correctly, and watched as his stag streaked out of his wand and out of the room.

He hoped whatever Hermione was doing, she would come back soon.

He paced around the room for about twenty minutes longer and then went out into the sitting room and sat down on the couch. It was strange that Hermione hadn't at least sent a Patronus back yet, but then she was probably just getting ready to come back and didn't bother letting him know.

He didn't realize he was falling asleep until he already had.

He awoke many hours later to bright sunlight streaming across his face. Even though he had spent the night on the uncomfortable, Victorian style couch, he slept better than he remembered sleeping in years. He felt awake and refreshed.

He guessed that Hermione had come in after he had fallen asleep and hadn't wanted to wake him. He walked happily down into the kitchen, expecting to find Ron and Hermione breakfasting, but was surprised to see Ron sitting there alone.

"Hermione still asleep?" he asked.

"No, she still hasn't come back," Ron answered, shoving a sausage into his mouth. He didn't seem at all worried.

"Do you think we should tell someone?" Harry was starting to get very nervous.

"She'll be all right," Ron said while chewing, but he didn't sound quite as confident as he had the night before.

It wasn't until late afternoon that Ron said, "You reckon something's wrong with Hermione?"

Exasperated, Harry started discussing what they should do.

Harry owled the Ministry to see if Hermione was there while Ron flooed both his flats. Both the flats were empty so they waited helplessly for a reply from the ministry. Finally, it came.

"_Harry," _read Kingsley's tight, loopy writing, "_I apologize for intercepting the owl that was sent for Hermione, but we're quite worried about her too. She had a very important case this morning at which she failed to appear. When we read that you and Ron hadn't seen her either, we alerted all of our Aurors who are currently searching for her. If you have any idea where she might be, please let us know at once."_

Harry read the letter aloud and then looked up to see his own horror mirrored in Ron's face. Without a word to each other, they walked hurriedly to the fireplace and took the floo network to the Ministry.

-888-

Five hours later, Harry and Ron left the Ministry without any new information. Hermione had simply vanished.

Within an hour of learning of Hermione's disappearance, Kingsley had not only organized a full scale search, but had gotten the Daily Prophet to print a special issue, encouraging anyone who knew of her whereabouts to come forward. He had also had posters put up in Hogsmeade, all along Diagon Alley, and even in Knockturn Alley. Aurors where questioning all Death Eaters who were being held in Azkaban, and all those who were suspected of association with Voldemort but weren't imprisoned. There wasn't a corner of wizarding Britain that wasn't being searched and Kingsley had even contacted the Muggle Prime Minister. They definitely couldn't complain that the Ministry wasn't doing everything they could and Harry and Ron were beginning to feel a bit useless.

After promising not to go off looking for Hermione on their own, Harry and Ron left the Ministry and went back to Grimmauld Place. They weren't doing any good at the Ministry, and though neither of them voiced it, Harry could tell they were both hoping they'd go back to find Hermione sitting there, wondering where they had been.

The house was just as empty as they had left it however and Harry soon found he felt more restless in that place than he had at the Ministry.

Ron looked pale and had hardly said a word. If Harry was as upset as he was, he couldn't imagine how Ron was feeling.

They sat in silence, for nearly an hour, waiting for some sign that Hermione was alright. The minutes seemed to tick by as they both fell into their own thoughts of what terrible things could be happening to Hermione in this moment.

They both dove for the owl as it swooped into the room. Harry's heart stopped as he realized it was the same haughty looking owl that had delivered the letter about the Dursleys on his birthday. Ron got to the message first but the owl hooted and pulled his leg away, flying instead for Harry.

Harry reached out his hand and pulled off the letter, reading it aloud to Ron.

_Harry,_

_I was admittedly a bit distraught after our last meeting. Fighting the great Harry Potter was not how I expected to spend the evening and I believe I may have panicked, leaving things unfinished. It's quite embarrassing, really. Please understand that this isn't the type of thing that comes naturally- even for the daughter of He Who Must Not Be Named._

_I managed to persuade Narcissa to tell me about sharing her memories with you. Who would have thought, a Malfoy reminiscing with Potter? It's quite touching actually. But I suppose I'll have to proceed a bit differently than originally planned, now that you know all my secrets._

_I wanted to let you know that I'm now back on track, and I won't be so careless now as to let you know where I am. _ _The Granger girl is proving to be far more resilient than the Dursley family. Whatever else she may be, I have to admit she's tough. It took almost an hour of the Cruciatus Curse to get her to beg for mercy._

_I've decided to give her a bit of a rest while I write this, but will be rejoining her soon. We may even have company soon. Please don't make any further attempts at heroics. The Granger girl doesn't deserve it._

_Sincerely,_

_ Sarah Gray_

"We have to find her," Harry said immediately. Ron didn't reply. He just looked at Harry without really seeing him. He was as pale as a ghost and shaking.

"Think," he said, more to himself than to Ron, "where could they be?" He had started pacing again and rubbing his scar while he thought. He couldn't think straight and had not a single idea to go on.

Without warning, another owl swooped into the room. This one Harry recognized as the Weasleys' new owl, Mercury.

Ron was shaking too hard to get the letter off so Harry stepped forward to help him.

It was a simple, short letter but Harry felt the impact of it like a bomb had gone off.

_Burrow's been attacked. Ginny's been taken._


	7. Sarah's Secret

Harry and Ron immediately Apparated to the Burrow together, hoping against all hope that the letter had been some sort of trick. It became immediately clear that it wasn't.

The yard was in shambles. Shards of glass littered the yard, the garden looked as though it had been torn up and gnomes were running from it, looking dizzy. The door leading into the house was lying on its hinges.

Mrs. Weasley came running out through the door, teary eyed and distracted, and pulled them both into a hug.

"Thank goodness you two didn't go after her," she said, almost crushing Harry with the weight of her hug.

"Mrs. Weasley, what happened?" Harry asked, trying to extricate himself from her grip.

"It was her. The girl you say took Hermione. The Dark Lady."

"Have you told Kingsley?"

"Yes. He's here now and the Aurors have already been alerted." She was struggling to get her words out through her tears.

"How many Death Eaters did she have with her?" Harry asked.

"She was alone."

Harry couldn't believe it. She was alone? How could she have caused this much damage and gotten away with Ginny without any help? And why would she have come alone? Surely she had a whole band of followers by now. But then, she had been alone torturing the Dursleys as well. Things were starting to get very strange.

"Arthur, Ginny and I were the only ones here," Mrs. Weasley explained, "And we fought but she's too good. I've never seen anyone duel like that."

"Do you have any idea where she might have taken Ginny?" Harry asked.

"No, none. Come in now, I'm sure Kingsley will want to talk to you."

"You two go ahead. I'll be in in a minute." He was strangely detached from himself, as though he was viewing this from within a Pensieve, like it wasn't really happening, but a plan was forming seemingly on its own inside his head. He had to get them inside so he could leave without them trying to stop him.

Mrs. Weasley moved obliviously toward the house but Ron stayed behind. Ron walked slowly over to him with a strange expression on his face, like a cat about to pounce, and shot his hand out, quickly grabbing his wrist. Harry tried to pull free but Ron was gripping him too tightly.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, bemused.

"You're not going to just Apparate away to try to save the day again," Ron said fiercely, "Whatever you're planning, I'm going with you." Harry could tell there was no point in arguing.

"Alright," he said after a moment, "Do your parents have any brooms here?"

Still holding onto Harry, Ron walked over to the old broom shed, pulling Harry behind him.

"I'm not going anywhere," Harry said but Ron just looked at him and didn't loosen his grip. With his free hand, he pulled two brooms from the shed and handed one to Harry.

"I need my arm, Ron," Harry said, "I promise I won't go anywhere without you."

Ron considered him for a moment then with a threatening look he reluctantly let go.

Harry walked over to a chair and tried to force his mind back to Hermione's NEWT tutoring sessions. What was the spell again? He tapped the chair with his wand and was surprised when it turned into a bowl of plastic fruit.

"Brilliant," Ron said with as much of a smirk as he could muster, "What are you planning on doing? Throwing plastic apples at her until she gives in?"

Harry didn't answer but instead tapped the bowl of fruit with his wand again and a small leash appeared in its place. He then summoned owl treats from the kitchen. Ron still looked confused but Harry saw comprehension slowly dawn on his face.

"You reckon we'll be able to follow it?"

"I think so," Harry answered, "It should only be a problem if she's put protection around wherever she is, like the Fidelius charm or something.

"Don't you think we should tell Kingsley?" Ron asked.

"We can't. He'd have to stop us."

"Why?" Ron asked, confused.

"Don't you remember? After Voldemort fell they enacted a new law making it illegal to follow owls under any circumstances. Something about personal rights…"

"Well that's a load of rubbish," Ron said.

"Would you be saying that if it was one of your owls?"

Ron didn't answer but just squinted up into the sky. "Are you sure she'll send another letter? She didn't with the Malfoys or Flitwick."

"Yeah, but she didn't take them to get to me," Harry said, unabashedly. Even if they were taken for his association with him, he wasn't going to let himself feel guilty. There wasn't time for that.

"But why would she take Ginny though?" Ron asked, looking at him now, "The whole world thinks you hate her."

Before Harry could answer, that same, haughty owl swooped down in front of him and landed on the table, hooting a single, dignified time.

Ron moved toward it but Harry stopped him. "We have to be slow," he said, nervously taking a step toward the owl, the treats and leash in his hand.

He held out his hand with the treats before untying the letter. He knew the owl wouldn't leave until its job was done. Unfortunately, it wouldn't take the treat either. It just hooted again and held out its leg. Harry moved as though he were going to untie it, but then quickly slipped the leash over its head instead.

"Gotcha," he said as the owl started screeching and flapping around over his head. He held tight to the leash and mounted his broom, not bothering to take the letter. Ron mounted his own broom and the two took off into the sky, following the owl.

The cold night air stung Harry as he flew through the darkening sky. One arm was outstretched, his hand clinging numbly to the leash that was magically bound around the owl's neck. The other remained firmly placed on his broom, holding him steady as he flew. Despite everything, it felt good to fly again.

"Do you think it will lead us to the right place?" Ron shouted over the wind after a while.

The owl seemed very flustered, and kept looking back at them as though it were terrified, but Harry was sure it wouldn't know any better than to go back to its owner, and Harry told Ron so.

After what felt like hours, the owl began to descend, making its way sharply toward the ground. They didn't have time to worry about the Muggles who would see them touch down on the London street. They landed in front of an old looking house, flanked on either side by similar looking buildings. They didn't acknowledge the young Muggle boy who was standing mere feet from them, looking on in awe. They'd have to tell Kingsley about him later, if they had a later.

The owl was being held in place again, flying wildly over Harry's head, trying hard to fly into a first floor window of the house in front of them. Harry was relieved that the house wasn't magically concealed.

"But that's not to say there aren't other enchantments if we try to get in," Ron whispered by Harry's side, seemingly reading his thoughts.

Harry took the letter from the owl's leg now, without answering Ron. He knew if he left it attached, it would alert Sarah to their presence. He put it into his pocket without unrolling it. He then removed the leash from the owl's neck and let the owl fly in to its master.

He and Ron stood looking at the house for a moment, Harry wondering how stupid he was being.

"Ready?" he asked, and Ron nodded determinedly. Side by side, they climbed the rickety old steps and turned the doorknob. It was locked.

Harry stepped back, contemplating what to do.

He was awful at this sort of thing. If Hermione was there, she would have been able to read the magical traces, deduce what spells had been used, and get past them, but Hermione wasn't there. He'd have to get past it on his own.

Ron stepped forward, tapped the knob with his wand and said, "_Alohomora_." To Harry's great surprise, the lock clicked and the door swung slowly inward. He saw his own shock mirrored on Ron's face. Ron just shrugged and moved slowly into the house.

The old floor creaked disobligingly beneath their feet. Harry kept his wand stretched out before him, but no Dark wizards came to greet them.

They had come directly into what looked to be a library. The walls were lined completely with shelves and every shelf was filled with books. There were thousands of them and as the shelves were full, more lay in piles on the floor. There was no furniture except for an old, green velvet chair sitting in the center of the room, and a desk that was littered with more books and old parchment.

They walked slowly past the desk to cross to the door on the other side of the room and Harry's eyes landed on the book that sat on the top of messy piles. He was surprised to see his own face looking out at him from the cover. It was his biography.

He stepped closer to the desk and saw that there were old issues of the Prophet there as well, last night's Evening Prophet laying most prominently in the mess. He shifted a few of the papers and saw that they were all about him. There were old issues of Witch Weekly, going back at least four years and he even saw a nearly seven year old Daily Prophet article accusing Hermione of leaving him for Viktor Krum.

"Creepy," Ron breathed, and Harry pulled his eyes away and continued walking toward the door. Something was very strange about all of this.

As they moved into the next room, they could hear shouting coming from the floor above.

"Ginny," Harry whispered and they quickened their pace toward the stairs, climbing them as quietly as they could. They walked down a long, dark hallway toward the sounds of the shouts.

"Kill me then," Harry heard Ginny shout defiantly, "Kill me if that's what you think."

There was a door that stood open at the end of the hallway, letting a single beam of light cast out into the hallway. Harry peered through, taking care not to be seen or heard and his heart stopped with what he saw.

Ginny was sitting propped against the far wall, out of breath and obviously injured. Her hair was a tangled mess, sticking to the sweat that covered her face. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, but her eyes were strong. She stared unblinkingly at her captor, who was out of Harry's view.

Harry stepped back from the door and turned to Ron.

"Go find Hermione," Harry mouthed.

Ron gestured toward the door, looking reluctant.

"I got it," Harry whispered, barely audibly, "just go find Hermione and the others and get them out of here. Then come back with help if you need to. There's no point in getting us both captured or killed too. Then who will save the others?"

Ron still looked reluctant but backed slowly away from Harry. Harry watched him disappear back down the stairs and then took one last deep breath before throwing the door open.

"_Expelliarmus!" _he shouted as soon as he saw the witch on the other side.

She blocked it easily.

"_Stupefy!_" he tried, but she blocked that one too.

"Now, now Harry," she said patronizingly, "That's enough of that. Why is it that you feel the need to curse me every time we meet? Me, your biggest fan?"

The woman stood confidently before him. Harry was struck by how much she looked like a female version of the young Tom Riddle. She had no trace of his haughtiness and her features weren't marred by the evil that had touched Riddle's face so early on, but she had the same distinctive features. Her long black hair cascaded down her back and her soft lips were curved into a smile.

"Let her go," Harry said, aware of the futility of the statement.

"But Harry," she said with a reasoned tone, "I thought you might like to help."

"Where are your cronies then anyway?" he asked, stalling, "I figured you'd have a whole army of your dad's old mates by your side by now."

Sarah's eyes widened. "Death Eaters? Is that what you think I am?"

Harry just looked at her. There was no sarcasm in her voice. She looked sincerely hurt at the suggestion. Comprehension slowly washed over him. The Dursleys: Everyone knew he hated them. Hermione, Ginny: The two girls who were rumored to have broken his heart. That feeling that had been nagging at him since the Dursleys had been taken, the feeling that he was missing something obvious suddenly became clear. He looked at Ginny who confirmed with a look what Harry was thinking. He had to speak carefully if he wanted to get them out of this. This girl wasn't safe, no matter what her motives were.

"What else could you be?" He asked, though he knew the answer to his own question, "Kidnapping the people I love, killing disloyal Death Eaters. You're following in your dad's footsteps."

"No," she said, almost whining, "I thought you understood. I'm not like him. I don't kill people. The only person I killed was Lucius Malfoy," her voice grew stronger, "and he deserved it."

"Maybe he did," Harry said cautiously, "But was that really for you to decide?"

"The Ministry should have killed him years ago. _You _should have killed him years ago," she said without a trace of regret.

"Next thing you know you'll be shouting pureblood supremacy and killing anyone who gets in your way."

"No!" she shouted, and Harry raised his wand again, expecting attack.

"I'm not like him," she continued desperately.

"Sure had me fooled," he said, this time with honesty.

"No. Everything I've done has been to help you; to prove that I'm not his daughter, not really anyway." Harry was relieved that his theory was correct.

"Why take Flitwick then?" he asked, now genuinely curious.

"He knew too much," she said simply, "I knew you and that traitor Ron and slut Hermione were getting too close to finding out who my father was. Filius was the only one who knew."

"And how did he know?" If he could keep her talking, Ron might have a chance of getting Hermione and the others away if they were there.

"Filius took me in after second year. He felt bad for me, having to go back to that awful orphanage, and he saw me as his protégé. He helped me research my past and he was with me when I learned the truth about my parents. He promised not to tell anyone, but after he found out I killed Lucius I wasn't sure I could trust him anymore.

"I didn't hurt him though," she pleaded, seemingly desperate for Harry not to think of her as her father, "I wouldn't ever hurt anybody who didn't deserve it. I thought you knew why I was doing what I was."

"I'm still not completely sure," Harry admitted, truthfully, "I get that you don't want to be like your dad, but why take my friends and relatives?"

"You call this bitch your friend?" Sarah snapped, gesturing at Ginny. Harry looked at Ginny and grew impatient. She was slumped against the wall, still conscious but barely. He had to get her out of there quick. "She ditched you and broke your heart."

"Do you believe everything you read?" Harry asked, "Actually, I ditched her. And Hermione and I were never together. It was always her and Ron."

Sarah looked shocked but recovered herself quickly.

"Well your Muggle relatives deserved it," she insisted.

"Maybe," Harry said, "but that wasn't for you to decide."

"All I wanted to do was show you that I was loyal to you, to defend you," she said sadly. She seemed hurt that he didn't appreciate all she had done for him. "I'm grateful that you destroyed my father, and I wanted to repay you for it." Harry found himself actually feeling a bit sorry for her.

"I know," he said kindly, but as if he were speaking to a child, "and I know you're not like your father, but I can't let you keep doing this."

He had said the wrong thing. She stood up to her full height and though he probably imagined it, Harry thought he saw a gleam of red in her eyes. "Can't let me?" she said proudly, "You're forgetting that you're in no place to _let _me do anything. Do you have any idea how powerful I am?"

"Yes," Harry said, "powerful. But smart too. Smart enough to know not to go down the same road as your father, even if your motives are completely different."

"You are weak," she spat, sounding very much like Tom Riddle. This was not going at all how Harry had hoped, "too weak to assert yourself against your enemies."

"I asserted myself against Voldemort," Harry said, now becoming annoyed, "He was my only real enemy."

"What about Bellatrix?" Sarah asked, "Was she not your enemy? She took Sirius Black from you."

"And she never would have done that if it weren't for Voldemort." He spared another look at Ginny before continuing, wondering if he could get to her before Sarah stopped him and Apparate away. He wondered if there were anti-Apparition wards set up. "Killing Voldemort wasn't about vengeance. It was about stopping him from causing any more harm. It was about winning our world back. It wasn't a petty grudge like you seem to have against Ginny and Hermione."

She looked deeply offended. "I only ever wanted to help you," she said weakly.

"I know," he softly said, "and now I want to help you."

"There is no help for me. Did you know that Hitler's nephews are still living, and they made a pact with each other that none of them would ever have children? They wanted to stop the line of evil before it could perpetuate." She hesitated for a moment then continued, "But they should have taken it farther. How could they be sure that they could trust themselves not to become what he was?"

"Evil isn't born," Harry said firmly, "It's made. It is our choices that define us." He smiled at this last sentiment, thinking of his mentor.

"I only did this to prove that I wasn't like him," she said, and Harry saw tears forming in her eyes.

"You're not like him," Harry said, "You feel remorse."

She looked at him weakly and Harry pressed his luck.

"I need to help Ginny," he said, "will you let me?"

"They'll put me in Azkaban." She seemed to be struggling with herself. It appeared that the full weight of everything she had done was finally hitting her. "Will you tell them that I'm not like him?"

"I will."

She dropped her wand and walked toward the corner of the room. "Go help your friend," she said, shrinking back into the shadows.

Harry thought about binding her, but he really believed that she was sorry for what she had done, and that she would go away willingly.

He rushed to Ginny as soon as Sarah gave him the okay and knelt down beside her. She had at some point finally lost consciousness.

"Ginny," he said frantically as he healed the gash in her forehead, "Ginny, can you hear me?"

Her eyes slowly fluttered open.

"You and that saving people thing," she joked, giving him a weak smile, and he knew she would be okay.

He had thought, once, that he had all the time in the world to say the things that needed to be said. Hours, days, even years, but now he knew better. He knew that the future could never be certain, and was determined to never take it for granted again.

Without preamble he said, "Ginny, I love you."

Her expression was unreadable as she just looked at him for moment. He was terrified that she wouldn't answer. Finally she did.

"Good," she said, strongly.

"Good?" he asked, a little confused and disappointed.

"'Cause this would have been a lot more awkward if you didn't."

Without another word, she reached up and kissed him as though no time had passed at all.

* * *

**A/N: **One more chapter to left after this one to tie things up. Thanks for reading! 


	8. Beginnings

It seemed that all the blood had drained from Ron's face and had been transplanted into his hair. In contrast with his paper white complexion, his hair seemed more vividly red than Harry had ever seen it.

"You alright mate?" Harry asked, grinning.

Ron just grunted, looking back at Harry through the reflection in the mirror.

"You sure I look alright?" Ron asked, tugging at the hem of his robes.

"You look great," Harry said sincerely, "But nobody will be paying any attention to you anyway."

Ron seemed a bit bolstered by this comment, but still kept tugging at his robes.

There was a soft knock at Ron's bedroom door and Mrs. Weasley's voice could be heard on the other side. "We're ready for you boys," she said and without seeing her, Harry could tell that she was weeping. Harry moved to open the door and found that he was right.

Her face was covered with tears but joy was radiating from her.

"You're supposed to wait until the ceremony actually starts before you cry," Harry said to her, grinning.

"My youngest son," she managed, "My little boy."

"Come on, Mum," Ron said, turning toward her, "It's not that big of a deal."

Her sobs intensified, however, at the sight of her youngest son in his wedding robes.

Ron just rolled his eyes affectionately, took her arm and led her down the stairs while Harry followed.

The guests were already seated when Harry and Ron took their places at the head of the crowd. As each moment passed, Ron's pale complexion seemed to darken slightly as it became eclipsed by a large smile he was obviously trying to keep in check.

Mrs. Weasley sat in the front row, still sobbing unashamedly, next to Mr. Weasley who looked as though he might have liked to have joined his wife in her tears, but was doing well holding them back. The rest of the Weasley brothers filled in the remainder of the row, along with Fleur and Percy's wife. At the end of the row, next to George, there was an empty seat and Harry assumed it had been left for Fred.

Various members of the Order and friends from Hogwarts were littered among the rest of the Weasley family, providing stark contrast in a sea of red heads.

Hermione's family sat on the other side of the aisle, all looking very nervous, but happy. Harry smiled while he looked at Hermione's mother. He wondered how it was possible that in all these years, he hadn't really spoken to her much. Her eyes were red, but she hadn't yet started crying.

Music started playing and Harry pulled his attention away from the guests and turned to look down the aisle separating the two groups. A beautiful woman appeared and Harry's jaw dropped as he realized that it was his girlfriend.

Despite the perfect beauty he saw, Harry couldn't help but picture her in white rather than the pale green she was wearing as Ginny walked slowly down the aisle, beaming.

"_Someday_," he thought to himself, smiling.

She winked at him as she took her place across from him as Maid of Honor.

And now Hermione was walking toward them, her father on her arm, and she was smiling like he had never seen her smile before. She looked heavenly dressed in a simple white gown and wearing Auntie Muriel's tiara.

As she took Ron's hand and the official started talking, Harry watched as their faces seemed to radiate happiness and an incredible calm washed over Harry. This was how it was supposed to be.

The ceremony ended and Hermione, through a complicated bit of magic, managed to make the chairs vanish and tables appear for the reception without any of her Muggle relatives noticing anything strange.

Ron and Hermione seemed unaware that anyone else was present as they began to dance. After a while, others started joining them on the dance floor and Harry asked Ginny to dance. They shared a long slow dance and Harry felt more at peace than he ever had in his life.

A while later, Harry found himself sitting alone at a table while Ginny sat giggling with Hermione and Mrs. Weasley, and Ron stood for pictures with his brothers. Before long, Kingsley joined him at the table.

He didn't say anything for a moment but peered into Harry's face intently, as though searching for something. After a while, he looked away and sat back in his chair, looking satisfied.

"What?" Harry asked, slightly bemused.

"You look happy," Kingsley said simply.

Harry smiled. "Yeah," he answered, "I am."

The two men sat for a while in silence before Harry spoke.

"Any news on Sarah Gray?" he asked.

Kingsley sighed. "She's still in Azkaban awaiting trial, but it looks like she's going to end up permanently in St. Mungo's."

"Good," Harry said, "I'd hate to think of her rotting away in Azkaban, even with the Dementors gone."

Kingsley nodded.

"How is Flitwick?" Harry asked. They had found Flitwick being quite well taken care of in Sarah's house, but he was very upset. He had taken Sarah in and raised her like a daughter. Eventually, they had started tracing Sarah's lineage and discovered the horrifying secret. He knew Sarah was kind at heart and trusted her, so he didn't tell anyone. He now felt sick with guilt over what had happened.

"Better," Kingsley answered, "He's staying with Minerva and she's trying to help him understand that it's not his fault."

"And the Malfoys?" Harry asked. They had not been treated quite as well. Apparently, Sarah hadn't been able to make up her mind about them and had been alternating between treating them like long lost family, and torturing them.

"They're still in St. Mungo's," Kingsley explained, "but they're healing well. It's been hard on them. Sarah made them watch while she killed Lucius."

Harry drew his breath in quickly. He hadn't known that. Despite his feelings toward Draco and Narcissa, he knew that was something no one should have to see.

"Hermione seems to be doing well," Kingsley said after a while, looking fondly at the new bride. They had grown close working together at the Ministry.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "She's stronger than you'd think."

"Oh, I'd never underestimate her," Kingsley said, with a hint of pride, "I've seen what she can do with a wand."

Harry smiled. Hermione had fought furiously when Sarah came to take her and had held her own for quite a while. Even once her wand had been taken away, she had still held up well against Sarah's torture. She was definitely one of the strongest people Harry knew. Looking at her now, it seemed impossible to tell that she had been kidnapped and tortured mere weeks ago. There was nothing but happiness in her features. Harry watched her laugh at something Ginny had said and his heart swelled. It was there, it was back. There was a youthful sparkle in her eyes.

Harry looked around at all the people he loved and saw happiness. The laughter might reach their lips a little slower, the sparkle might appear more rarely, but it was there. They were all still laughing and all still living. And as he watched, the last bit of anger and sadness released his heart and he felt light.

"Harry, come on," Ron called from where he stood having his picture taken, "We want a picture of the whole family."

Harry smiled and made his way over to where Ron was standing. He made his way over to his family, knowing he'd never leave them again. He was, at last, finally home.


End file.
